


Child of Peace

by rufousnmacska



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Book 3: Heir of Fire, Book 4: Queen Of Shadows, Multi, Tower of Dawn, blackbeak witches, crochan witches, empire of storms, ironteeth witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2018-09-01 19:01:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 167,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8634253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufousnmacska/pseuds/rufousnmacska
Summary: Set immediately after Empire of Storms, follows Manon, Dorian, and the Thirteen as they search for the Crochan witches and the third wyrdkey. As Manon and Dorian grow closer, they must deal with past traumas before they can face the challenge of helping to destroy Erawan.





	1. Good

Dorian watched as Manon mounted Abraxos in a fluid motion. She hadn’t seen the wyvern in days and the joy of his return was clear on her face. He assumed he’d be riding with her but he paused before approaching. Abraxos looked just as happy to see his rider and Dorian wasn’t quite sure if he’d be protective of her.

Manon smiled. “Afraid of heights Princeling?”

“Just unsure of the seating arrangements,” he replied.

She nodded to the space behind her. “I’m afraid there is only one harness so you’ll just have to hold on.”

Dorian smirked as he climbed into the saddle behind her. “I have no intention of letting go anytime soon.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close.

Manon twisted to face him, her eyes ablaze with intensity. “Good,” she said.

His face lit up with a grin as he turned to wave to Rowan. Without warning, Abraxos pushed off the ground. Within seconds they were soaring over the marshes, the remainder of Manon’s Thirteen falling into formation around them. They gained altitude quickly. The rushing wind and booms of the wyvern wing beats filled his senses. The land below was rapidly receding, soon to be obscured by the clouds they were flying into. Dorian was overcome with awe. “This is incredible,” he yelled with a silly grin. He’d never been bothered by the considerable heights of the glass castle. In fact, he’d enjoyed the views of the city and river. But this. This was unlike anything he could have imagined. Manon smiled, and even Abraxos turned to acknowledge Dorian’s reaction. _I think I’ve won his approval_ , he thought.

They flew for several hours, neither one saying much. Dorian was still struck by the fact that he was flying, and he suspected Manon was happy to be in the air as well. When the sun was about an hour or two from the horizon, Sorrel flew alongside them and said “If we stop now, it will put us in reach of Fenharrow tomorrow.”

One word. Her home.

And suddenly Dorian was on his knees before his father. Covered in her blood. His screams echoing off the walls. The collar locking around his neck. He flinched violently, trying to get away from what he was seeing. Releasing his hold on Manon, he ground his hands into his eyes, his head shaking back and forth. Slowly, the vision began to disappear and he came back to the present. He looked down to see Manon’s hand clutching his shirt. She was twisted in her saddle, her face frozen in fear. With no emotion, Dorian said “I’m ok,” then looked away.

 

* * *

 

 

Manon released the breath she was holding as she felt his hands return to her waist. She signaled her thanks to Sorrel, who had lurched her wyvern towards them when Dorian almost fell. Her eyes still wide, Sorrel nodded. She flew ahead to lead the group to a safe camp site for the night.

Manon’s heart began to slow to a normal beat. Abraxos kept looking back, a franticness in his eyes she’d never seen before. _What the hell just happened_?! Dorian refused to look at her but at least he was holding on again. They were starting to descend so she decided not to press him about it now.

When they landed, the witches broke into groups to set up camp and hunt. Sorrel approached Manon with hesitation.

“What?” she snapped, as she adjusted the harness of her saddle.

“Is he ok?”

Manon turned towards the woods where Dorian had disappeared the moment they’d landed.

“He used a lot of magic during the sea battle. Can that hurt him?”

Manon shook her head. “I think… Something happened to set off a bad memory maybe. I don’t know what though.” A lie. She had a good idea what he’d remembered but she wasn’t going to discuss it with Sorrel.

“You should go find him.”

Manon whirled to face her third, ready to berate her for daring to give her a command. But when she saw the worry in Sorrel’s eyes, she stopped. This wasn’t the same Thirteen. Things had changed, for her in particular. Since she’d learned of Asterin’s witchling and how Sorrel and Vesta had saved her life. Since she’d defied her bitch of a grandmother. Since she’d found out she was a Crochan queen. Since she’d allowed herself a heart. Her anger drained away as her hands hung uselessly at her sides. If this was something she could fight and kill with Wind Cleaver, it would be easy. But this. “I have no idea what to even say to him,” she whispered.

Sorrel thought for a moment then said, “Sometimes you don’t have to say anything. Just let him know you are there.” Manon sighed and made her way into the forest.

She was unsure of what to do, or if he’d even want her looking for him. They had saved each other so often over the short time since they’d met. And not just in the big, dramatic moments of a wyvern attack or mortal injury. His cocky arrogance had helped to bring her out of the darkness that had enveloped her when she thought her Thirteen were dead. And she’d somehow sensed the boost in his spirit when she checked on him after he was freed from the valg. Although many of those times may have involved some feeling of indebtedness, she didn’t feel that now. This just felt like the right thing to do.

Manon decided she would simply ask him questions, get him talking. Despite how some of his friends had treated him, Dorian was far from stupid. He never missed anything and would know immediately what she was doing. If he wanted to be left alone, she was sure he’d make it known, and she would give him space. But something deep inside was telling Manon that he needed to talk about it. Talk about her.

It took her a while before she found Dorian, sitting on a rock ledge overlooking a small ravine. He didn’t acknowledge her as she sat down. She followed his gaze, looking across the trees, and slung her legs over the edge as he’d done.

“Was she from Fenharrow?” she asked quietly.

Minutes passed, then he nodded.

She hesitated. Her plan had sounded good on the way here but now… She turned and got her first good look at him since landing. She saw plainly his red eyes and mussed hair, as if he’d been running his hands through it and grabbing it in frustration. _The hell with it_ , she thought. _If he gets angry that’s better than this_. “What was her name?”

After another long silence, he said “Sorscha.”

“How did a woman from Fenharrow become an Adarlan courtier?”

It took a little less time for him to reply this time. “She wasn’t a member of court but a healer employed in the castle.” He paused before adding, “Who was spying on my father for the rebels.”

Manon’s eyebrows raised as she said, “Brave woman!”

Another nod. She felt encouraged by his replies and took a chance. “Don’t tell me you faked an injury to get her attention, Princeling,” she teased.

“No.” There was a slight twitch of his mouth. “But I did take up sword training around that time. Purely by coincidence.”

A laugh escaped before she could think to stop it. “So then, how did you meet?”

He lifted his head as if trying to remember. “Aedion and I were walking in the garden. He decided to push me into a hedge of thornbushes in an attempt to make himself feel important,” he said, with a hint of amusement.

“Prick,” she said under her breath.

Dorian’s mouth quirked into a partial smile. “Indeed. And nice pun Witchling.”

Manon wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that. But he’d smiled. That was the only thing she cared about right now. Without her prompting, Dorian continued his story. He told her about discovering his magic and how, after meeting her, Sorscha helped him manage it. The healer was his only source of calm and comfort, someone he could fully trust. Manon listened intently, watching as the sun began to sink behind the trees. When he’d been quiet for a few minutes, she turned to see if he was going to continue.

His face was solemn as he said “After my father’s massacre of the kingdom’s slaves and Aelin’s reappearance in Wendlyn, I knew it was becoming dangerous for us. For her. Chaol and Aedion were planning to get her out of the castle. But just before it could happen, we were all summoned to my father’s chambers.” He said ‘father’ with pure venom. Dorian reached for his neck, as if to remind himself that the collar was gone. When he lowered his hands, she noticed ice crystals forming around the fingers of his clenched fist. Before she could say anything, he continued. “When the guards forced her to her knees…”

Ice spread along the rock surface. He took a long breath, trying but failing to calm himself. “I begged him for her life. I was on my knees. Offered him anything. But he just looked me in the eyes and said no. She was beheaded. Just like that. One second she was telling me she loved me and the next… She was gone.”

Manon didn’t know what to say so she simply laid her hand on his shoulder. It felt like a useless gesture, but Dorian’s breathing began to calm and the ice receded.

“He had Aedion taken to the dungeon and was about to let Chaol leave. When Chaol refused, my father threatened to kill him too. My magic exploded. Enough to buy Chaol time to escape but not enough to stop my father. Once I realized he wasn’t going to kill me, once I understood what he planned to do, I tried to fight. I was covered in her blood when my father locked the collar around my neck. Then I was gone too.”

She had been staring at him while he spoke but only now realized there were tears sliding down his cheeks. Manon had seen men cry before, most of them because of her. She’d considered it pathetic. An amusing human weakness. But Dorian was anything but weak. And what had happened to him was anything but amusing.

He dropped his head into his hands. “I tried to fight it. Even when I realized no one noticed it was no longer me. No one questioned the collar. I still tried to regain control. But eventually, my memory was… I didn’t know my own name. I didn’t know my friends.”

He lifted his head, staring into the fading light. “I did…horrific things to them,” he said, almost choking on the words. “Methods of torture I never could have imagined. I don’t remember all of it but pieces come back to me in my nightmares.” He took a deep, ragged breath. “The one memory the valg allowed me to have was the sound of the sword slicing through her neck and the feeling of her blood on my hands. The entire time that I wore that collar her death was played over and over in my head.”

Now Manon was the one clutching her fist in rage. She had to remind herself that his filthy animal of a father was already dead. While she felt some comfort knowing Dorian had ended him, a part of her was upset that she hadn’t been there to help.

They sat in silence for a while until Dorian asked abruptly “Why did you save me?”

She was caught off guard by the question as well as the tone. He sounded accusatory. As though saving his life had been a mistake.

“I’d like the truth this time.”

The continued note of anger in his voice struck her like a slap. “I’ll tell you the truth but I’m still trying to understand it all myself. When you asked me in Rifthold… I didn’t really know then.”

She took several minutes to order her thoughts. She was so new to even acknowledging her feelings, let alone voicing them, that she wasn’t sure she could do this. As an Ironteeth witch, one’s life was to be absent of any emotion. Except for rage. Or the joy that came from releasing that rage in violence. But now she thought of Asterin and all she’d suffered and kept hidden. Something in Manon had cracked the day she learned of Asterin’s hunter and witchling. She’d been left with a sense of freedom that she hadn’t understood at the time. But she was beginning to grasp it now. She was free to feel and release any and all emotions. She wasn’t under her grandmother’s thumb any longer. The only person she had to answer to was herself. _I won’t keep living with everything hidden inside me_ , she decided.

“When I left the message for the Terrasen queen, I told myself it was simply to repay the life debt I owed her. Nothing more. But honestly…” She trailed off, keeping her eyes on the trees even as she noticed his attention focus on her.

“That day in Oakwald, I knew two things almost immediately. Your father was a cruel, evil bastard who was so weak he had to resort to imprisoning his own son to maintain control. Which meant, of course, that you were none of those things.”

She coughed. “A bit overly confident perhaps. And clearly unconcerned for your own safety.” More serious, she continued, “I could sense the valg inside you. So when you spoke to me, I was surprised. But it confirmed what I’d already decided about your character.”

She paused, uncertain if she could admit the rest. “At the same time, I was beginning to have doubts about the side I’d chosen in this war. And doubts about my grandmother. She was willing to do anything to please your father, including sacrificing covens to Perrington’s sick experiments. I had also just met Elide. She was teaching me how to hope, something I’d never really thought existed. When I left that message it was because I thought you deserved a chance to live. If you could be free of the valg and stand against your father… I would try to help make that happen.”

“And when the witches attacked Rifthold?” he asked.

She sighed, frustrated by the memory. “We weren’t told about the attack until their coven had already left the Ferian Gap. Had I been included in the planning, or just given more notice, things would have gone much differently.”

“But you still would have attacked?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted slowly. “I don’t think I was prepared to openly disobey orders but… I also wasn’t prepared to destroy a city either.”

Dorian nodded for her to continue.

“As it happened, we flew for two days straight to try and beat the Yellowlegs there. When we finally arrived, I sent the Thirteen to try to contain the damage but it was too late. I flew directly to the castle, hoping to get you out alive. You know the rest.” He didn’t really, she thought. But that could wait.

“I suppose my reasons were the same but it felt more urgent. I’d recently met Erawan and learned what a true threat he was to this world. Knowing you’d resisted the valg and were now King, I hoped you would be able to stand against him.“

“No,” she corrected. “I _knew_ that if our world stood any chance, you had to be there to stop him.” Manon didn’t explain how that feeling, that knowing, had practically pulled her to Rifthold. She hadn’t really thought about it since that day and still didn’t know what it meant.

Dorian’s harsh laugh broke her from the memory. He was shaking his head. “You actually thought I was fighting the valg off that day in the forest,” he practically sneered. “I hate to ruin your opinion of me, but that was all your doing.”

“What?”

“Your eyes,” he said still laughing. “The valg was terrified of your gold eyes. It couldn’t face you. It LET me speak to you. I didn’t have a damn thing to do with it.”

She stared at him in disbelief. Not at what he was saying about the valg. But at the realization that he thought so little of himself. She found herself fighting for control as her iron nails almost shot from her fingers. She grabbed him by his shirt and forced him around to face her. He gave her a quick glance but then lowered his head, unable to meet her fierce gaze.

“So,” Manon said angrily. “You blame yourself for killing people after that godsdamned collar was forced around your neck and that thing used you like a puppet? But you refuse any responsibility for the one time you actually were in control of it?” After a calming breath she went on, “You know that doesn’t make sense. The simple fact that you are alive and sane is proof that you were fighting against it the entire time. Nothing you say now will change my mind.”

She let go of his shirt and placed her hand on his chest. “You are a good man Dorian.”

He raised his head slowly, like he was coming out of a trance, and finally, _finally_ , looked into her eyes.

 

* * *

 

One word. His name.

He’d spent weeks, months, years, trying to remember it. But the only time he’d managed to say it was when she had ordered him to. And her name, her golden eyes, had been the only good memories that remained after he was freed.

Staring into her eyes now, he felt a small weight lift from inside him. It wasn’t gone completely, but he could breathe a little easier. He thought maybe the parts of him that were broken or missing might be repaired someday. Maybe it had already begun. He was lost in her eyes for what seemed like both a long time and not long enough. When he noticed the tears falling from them, he raised his hand to dry her cheeks. But, thinking she wouldn’t want him drawing attention to it, he instead took her hand in his.

“I think that’s the first time you’ve called me by my name,” he said softly. He smiled, hoping she’d return it.

Manon scowled as she sniffed and wiped her tears away. But she couldn’t hold the look long enough to make him believe it.

When she returned his smile, she said “So you no longer like ‘Princeling’?”

“I do,” he replied, still unable to look anywhere but her eyes. “But I have to admit that I like the way you say my name. Perhaps you can reserve it for use on special occasions.” His smile turned a bit mischievous and she laughed at him. One small, empty part of him was filled from the sound.

Manon cocked her head as if thinking of what to say. _No_ , he thought. _She’s wondering_ if _she should say it_.

When she’d decided, she said, “I guess I’ll have to learn exactly _when_ you prefer _which_ name.” Then, with uncharacteristic hesitation, “It may take me a very long time to sort it all out.”

He leaned closer to her, holding her gaze so she’d know he was sure, and said simply “Good.”

Her face lit up with a smile just before he kissed her.

Dorian kept a small fire in his hand to light their way back to camp. Manon, who had been quiet as they walked, suddenly stopped and said “You do realize how powerful your magic is don’t you? The ability to create anything. Even those fae warriors can’t manage that.”

“You seem awfully anxious to get me into a battle with Erawan, Witchling. I’m beginning to suspect you have a gambling problem and want to better your chances,” he joked.

She stilled, as if deep in thought. “I could make a lot of money. Maybe retire to the Southern Colonies…”

He laughed in pure surprise. “You just made a joke!” Then his face fell a bit as he realized “Damn - no witnesses. No one will believe me when I tell them.”

Manon rolled her eyes and said without a hint of amusement, “The experience wasn’t that bad. Maybe I’ll try it again sometime.”

“Please try the next time I flash into one of my nightmares,” he said, becoming serious. “It gets a bit easier with each passing day but… I don’t think I will ever be rid of them completely.” Dorian sighed, feeling just a little better from admitting this out loud. “Thank you for listening.”

Manon frowned slightly, looking as though she was struggling with how to react. He didn’t press her, instead waiting until she was ready to speak. He realized that he liked the fact she often thought through her words before voicing them. His friends had generally lacked the patience to deal with this aspect of her personality. But he recognized it for what it was - intention; the desire to say what she meant. He felt he could trust Manon to be nothing less than honest with him.

Her expression softened. She took his hand and said “I have a lot of things I need to make sense of. Maybe we can help each other?”

Dorian was immediately reminded of a conversation with Rowan. How he and Aelin had pulled each other from the darkness.

He squeezed her hand and smiled reassuringly. He knew it was difficult for her to admit to any type of weakness, let alone ask for help.

“Anything you need Manon. I will help you.”

She nodded. “And I will help you Dorian.”


	2. Control

Another day searching and another day without finding any Crochans. Manon had been sending scouts out in different directions every morning. When they’d met again each night, she’d endured report after report of nothing. It was a mixed blessing. Morath was not back to full strength yet, even if its monsters were continually patrolling the area. But the Crochans were nowhere to be found. Her frustration at this was tempered with relief since she had no idea what she was going to say to them anyway.

This was how Manon had spent each night as they’d all gather around a fire. Silently brooding about her lack of a plan, then despairing when nothing materialized. Although the Thirteen were evolving into friends, something that had never before been allowed, she was not at a place where she could admit this failure to them. Especially one of such importance. _Maybe if Asterin were here_ , she thought, missing her Second. _No. I am their leader. At least I’m supposed to be_. She shook her head, disgusted not only by her self pity, but by how quickly she’d landed here. Just a few days ago, she’d felt such hope, such purpose. The old days were beginning to seem so much easier. Back when she didn’t feel so much.

Obedience, discipline, brutality. Her grandmother’s words floated through her head like a taunt. She had started a new path with her Thirteen. Loyalty, strength, amity. Those were the new rules she wanted them to live by. If she only knew how to get them there.

Dorian’s laugh broke apart her thoughts. Her eyes shifted away from the fire she’d been staring into and she found him sitting nearby. It was just over a week since they’d started this journey. He seemed to have recovered from the painful memories of Sorscha that were sparked that first day. He’d said it would likely happen again, and she’d kept an eye on him, looking for signs that he was upset or disappearing into himself. A couple of mornings he’d been unusually quiet, looking as though he’d had no sleep. Each time, she’d sent him a silent question, offering to listen. And each time he’d smiled and thanked her, then went about his business. He knew she was willing to help so she didn’t push. But other than that, he’d been fine and was getting along well with the coven.

At night, Dorian would either talk to Ghislaine about books, or ask unending questions about witch culture and wyverns. She’d had to admit to a little jealousy when Abraxos took to nuzzling a greeting to Dorian each morning. Last night, after hearing about Lin’s love for knife-throwing, he’d talked her into giving him a lesson. Only Vesta, much more quiet than usual, seemed to be undecided about him. Manon didn’t know why she was surprised by how quickly he fit in. He had a way of making people feel at ease, feel as though they were worth his attention. _It seems even heartless witches can’t withstand his charms_ , she thought dryly. Hell, even the other wyverns were, if not docile, somewhat calmer around him.

Nothing physical had happened between them since the night before the sea battle. A kiss, but no more. They’d made an agreement to help each other when the darkness struck. She was glad of it, but it left her a little unsure of what that made them. They were becoming friends she supposed. Something with which she had little experience. Well, certainly none involving a man. The attraction was still there however, and that made it even more difficult for Manon to figure this out. She decided that part of it didn’t really matter. There hadn’t been a chance to be alone with him anyway.

Looking at him now, the firelight dancing in his eyes, a smile across his face, she realized how striking he was. She’d recognized his other qualities early on - he was clever and perceptive. And fearless, though not in a reckless way. That was a true oddity to her. No other man had ever been so unafraid of _her_. But this was the first time she really studied his face. His strong jaw. The slight bump in his nose. The way his eyebrows came together when he was concentrating, listening to something interesting. The almost-dimple that formed when he smiled.

“Manon! Did you hear me?”

Manon blinked and realized Dorian was staring at her too.

“Manon!”

She jerked around to meet Vesta’s angry glare, then looked back to Dorian, who looked amused. Apparently she’d been watching him for a while. She refocused on Vesta, her initial embarrassment quickly turning into anger.

“I’ve asked you three times if you have any plan for contacting the Crochans,” Vesta said, the contempt in her voice obvious.

Manon stood and approached Vesta with an eerie calm, hands forming tight fists at her sides. Her first instinct was to slap the haughty witch. Not just for her tone, but the question itself. Only Asterin had the right to question her. All the others were forbidden. Their dynamic was changing yes, but there was still a need for a hierarchy, especially in a time of war.

Somehow, she suppressed the urge to hit Vesta. As she stood over her, Manon hissed, “It is not your place to question me.” Vesta held the violent stare for several seconds before lowering her head and giving a curt nod. No one spoke as Manon left the group and settled into her bed roll on the other side of camp.

She lay there for what felt like hours. What the hell was she going to do? She was taking them on a blind search for allies who were more likely to kill them than join them. She was letting herself become distracted by some king without a kingdom. And Vesta had openly challenged her. Vesta! The witch had never done anything like that before.

When all she could hear was the deep breathing of sleep, Manon slipped out of her bed roll and walked out of camp. She felt like she was in a free fall, plagued by uncertainties and an ever-growing sense of emptiness. As she made her way into the nearby woods, she thought about how she’d gotten to this point, trying to figure out when this weight had first attached itself to her. There had been no question of saving Asterin and the Thirteen from her grandmother. And she didn’t regret what she’d done for Dorian in Rifthold. Her complicity in Kaltain’s partial destruction of Morath didn’t bother her in the least.

The crunch of footsteps from behind brought her to her senses. She tensed, only now realizing she’d left all of her weapons back in camp. _You worthless fool! You deserve to be challenged if this is how you behave_.

Manon turned to see Vesta standing a few feet away, her eyes red. Manon slumped. She had no energy for a confrontation. No desire to fall back into the old ways. So, she simply asked “Why do you no longer trust me?”

Vesta’s face crumpled in anguish, tears falling anew. “I trust you. I’ve _always_ trusted you, looked up to you, since I was a witchling. But Manon, I won’t let you make the same mistake Asterin made. I can’t sit by and watch my coven leader be hurt the way she was. All for the love of a mortal man.”

Manon’s eyes widened in shock. Of all the reasons she’d been imagining for Vesta’s behavior, all the ways in which she’d been failing them as their leader… This had never entered her mind. Manon was so taken aback by Vesta’s claim, that she was in love with Dorian… She just stood there, speechless.

“I was there when Asterin was left for dead. Beaten by your grandmother. Broken by the loss of her witchling and the man she loved. Sorrel and I spent _months_ picking up the pieces. And even then, she was never really the same again.” She glanced at Manon, fear creeping into her eyes. “I’ve noticed how you look at each other. All I could think about were the months Asterin spent in darkness. And how it will be you when he dies and you are forced to live on. I didn’t mean to challenge you tonight. I just…couldn’t watch it any longer.” Vesta fell silent. Then she knelt in front of Manon and begged, “Please forgive my disobedience Wing Leader. It will never happen again.”

Manon thought she might be sick from the rage that suddenly churned inside her. The sight of Vesta on her knees was too much. Obedience, discipline, brutality. Her grandmother, the Matron, was the reason Vesta felt she had to apologize and beg. All for daring to care about Manon. _This bullshit needs to end_.

“Stand up Vesta.” Hesitantly, as if expecting a blow at any moment, she rose. But Manon put her hand on Vesta’s shoulder and said “I’m not going to punish you. That was the old way of things. The Matron’s way. I will no longer follow any of her rules. We are creating our own from now on.”

Vesta visibly relaxed but she still looked unconvinced. Manon continued, “You should not apologize for worrying about me. You had the Thirteen’s interests in mind as well. You did nothing wrong.” She smiled and said, “Though maybe the next time something like this happens, come talk to me before it builds up inside you.”

“What about the King,” Vesta asked softly.

Manon was still for a long time, but Vesta didn’t repeat her question. “I’m not sure what there is between us. I trust him and he trusts me. But beyond that, I don’t know.” This felt like a lie. But Manon was still working through her emotions, her past, her future. She didn’t want to share that process with anyone yet.

“Asterin and I have talked about what happened to her. The good and the bad. So, I don’t say this lightly… I appreciate your concern Vesta, but I will make my own choices when it comes to the King. Thank you for looking out for me.”

Vesta smiled, “You’re welcome Wing Leader.”

“‘Manon’ from now on. You should get some sleep.” Vesta started to say something but Manon stopped her. “I’ll return soon. I still need to think about our Crochan problem.“ Vesta’s cheeks reddened but she nodded and started back to camp.

 

* * *

 

 

Dorian stopped when he noticed Vesta approaching him in the woods. He’d known for a couple of days that something was bothering Manon. And stupidly, he’d decided to let her come to him about it. It wasn’t that he didn’t care. Pretty much everything he’d thought he knew about witches was being proven wrong. But…he thought he knew her. And he didn’t want to push and scare her away. After tonight’s near explosion though, he realized how wrong his ‘wait and see’ approach had been.

Vesta looked as thought she’d been crying, which only made Dorian feel like more of an ass. “Are you okay Vesta?“ She didn’t reply. “If there’s something I can do to…uh…help with anything. Please, just…ask.”

 _You idiot_ , he thought. The last thing he wanted to do was insert himself into the coven’s politics. But Vesta hadn’t said much to him since he’d joined the group and he knew she didn’t like him. And, she was making him extremely uncomfortable now as she continued to silently study him.

He was about to attempt some feeble excuse to get away when she said, “I can see why. But you should know, I will protect her. At all costs.” Then she winked at him.

At a total loss for words, Dorian nodded and mumbled a thank you. Vesta huffed a laugh and continued on to camp. He didn’t have a clue what that was about, but he made himself let it go. He needed to find Manon. Heading in the direction Vesta had come from, he eventually found her in a small clearing.

“Manon. What’s wrong?” She glanced at him, but didn’t turn around. He leaned against a tree and crossed his arms. He was content to wait. Content to watch her.

Her long braid was brilliant in the moonlight. Every day this week he’d sat behind her on Abraxos, her hair blowing around his face. He loved it. But it was turning into torture. He was constantly fighting the urge to run his fingers through her hair, kiss her neck, slide his hands along her thighs, beneath her shirt…

Gods, what was wrong with him? She was clearly struggling with something and he was standing here fantasizing about her. But watching her here in the moonlight was…maddening. His imagination was just getting out of hand when she turned and noticed the way he was staring. No, not staring. He was devouring her.

“Why are you looking at me like that,” she asked, a sly curve to her lips.

“You know why Witchling.” Trying to regain his composure, he added, “And don’t change the subject. What’s going on?”

She began walking towards him, slowly, her smile widening. He forced himself to stay still. But when she stopped inches from him and ran an iron nail down his chest…her other hand taking hold of his pants…

“I want to change the subject Princeling. And besides, you brought it up.”

He let out a low laugh as he grabbed her braid, wrapping it around his hand. He pulled, bringing her head back and exposing her neck. Manon gasped when he dipped his head and kissed her ear, biting down softly on her earlobe. He whispered “I believe you brought it up. When you couldn’t stop looking at me earlier tonight.”

Dorian kissed his way down her neck, lingering at her collarbone. He felt her pulse speed up, her breathing catching up to his own. With his free hand, he started to pull her closer but she stopped him. He released her hair and looked into her eyes. They were dark and glassy and fiery and it took everything in him not to pick her up and…

“Do you trust me Princeling?”

He managed to keep himself from blurting out a Yes! But she knew he trusted her. She wasn’t asking about that so much as she was asking if he was willing to relinquish some control. _As if I have any left to give when I’m with her_ , he thought. _I can barely stop myself from ripping our clothes off and fucking her against this tree_.

“Dorian. Do you trust me?”

Gods, the way she said his name…her accent drove him crazy. “Of course.”

Holding his gaze, she slowly knelt and began to undo his pants. He opened his mouth, about to say something, but before he could speak, her mouth was on him.

His head dropped back as he laced his fingers in her hair. “Gods Manon!” It was all he could say. He was utterly lost in the sensation of her mouth, her tongue. One of her hands closed around him and stroked, the other hand reached behind and pulled him closer to her. There was nothing but her, her name between his panted breaths, her answering moans.

She shifted to take him more completely in her mouth and he gasped, “Fuck…” He wasn’t going to last long like this. One hand was clenched in her hair and he had the other propping himself on the tree. He was practically begging himself to hold on, make this last. When he felt her teeth gently drag along his shaft, he almost lost it completely. “Manon…stop…”

Releasing him immediately, she stood. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” he growled. “I want more.”

They both fumbled to get her pants and boots off. When she was free of them, Dorian lifted her and she straddled him. Turning and bracing her against the tree, he positioned her so she hovered just above him, just close enough to tease. She squirmed, trying to push herself down onto him but he held her back, savoring everything about this moment. “I want this. I want you,” he breathed.

“Then what are you waiting for,” she purred.

He let go of his hold on Manon, just enough so that she slid slowly onto him. Her head rolled back and she bit her lip, moaning. He may have stopped breathing then. She was so beautiful and felt so damned good… He wanted to tell her this but he couldn’t think of any words that could do her justice. He couldn’t think…

“Dorian…,” she breathed.

 _That_ brought him back. He kissed her and began moving in and out of her slowly, so slowly, trying to relish each second, every touch, the way she moved against him… Manon moaned with each exquisite thrust. She turned away from his lips to bite down on his shoulder, trying to keep her sounds from carrying too far. Her arms so tight around him, her hands grasping at his hair. Somehow he managed to say “Don’t hold back… I have us shielded.”

She cried out loudly with his next thrust. “More Dorian… Please.” He took a step back and shifted her hips so she joined him at a different angle, her back still pressed against the tree. She gasped as he thrust into her again, and again. Faster, matching the rush of her breath, the cadence of his name coming from her mouth.

When Dorian felt her legs tense around his waist, her nails dig into his arms, her breath catch, he never wanted the moment to end. When she came, tightening around him, he lost any shred of control he had and let himself go too.

Manon collapsed on him, still trembling from her orgasm. Dorian was shaking too and turned to lean against the tree. He ended up just sliding down it, landing unceremoniously on his ass. He didn’t care. He still couldn’t think straight. Her arms and legs were wrapped around him. That’s all that mattered. Between breaths he said, “That was…supposed to take…the edge off.”

Manon replied, “I think you and I are only sharpening the edge.” Her breath in his ear sent a shiver through his core. He must be one hell of an actor for her to think he exercised any control when it came to her. He laughed at the thought and felt her stiffen. “That was not a joke,” she said, moving to get off of him.

He tightened his arm around her waist, keeping her where she was. Taking hold of her chin, he pulled her to face him. “Believe me Manon. What I feel for you is no joke.” Her expression softened as he explained, “I laughed because you have me wrapped around your finger and you haven’t realized it yet.” He dropped her chin and lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing the tips of each finger. “And yes. We are absolute shit at dulling this edge.”

She laughed at this and offered, “Maybe with some practice then?”

“That sounds like an excellent plan Witchling,” he answered, flashing her a devilish smirk.

As they were dressing, Manon asked, “How is it that my shirt wasn’t shredded by that tree?”

Dorian wiggled his fingers and grinned. “Magic.”

Another laugh. “And you can really conceal sound with your shield?” She sounded skeptical.

He winced and replied “I…think so?”

She huffed and rolled her eyes. “Well let’s hope so. Otherwise, our enemies may have a new method of tracking us.”

Witches had a reputation for lacking a sense of humor but this past week had put an end to that stereotype. He’d already known it didn’t apply to Manon. She had a subtle, dry wit that he enjoyed playing off of. While he wanted to continue with their joking, he didn’t forget why he’d sought her out tonight. So Dorian took her hand and led her to sit in a spot filled with moonlight. “If you want to talk about what’s been bothering you, I’m happy to listen.”

 

* * *

 

 

Of course he remembered, she thought with a sigh. She certainly hadn’t meant for the sex to be a distraction from his earlier question. Hadn’t planned it at all. But they’d both been overcome in that moment. And she had to admit, it was quite a release.

Quite new too. She’d been with plenty of men in her one hundred plus years. But she had never once thought about doing anything other than what would satisfy _her_ desires. The fact that she not only just did that with Dorian, but had _wanted_ to… Wanted to see how it would affect him. How _she_ might affect him.

She realized she was staring at him again. _Gods_. She rolled her eyes and sighed again in exasperation. He was smiling, patient and encouraging. “I’m not sure where to even begin,” she finally admitted.

“We are supposed to be finding and recruiting Crochans but I have no idea where to look. And what shall I say to convince them to join us? If you knew how many of them I’ve killed…,” she stopped herself from finishing that thought. It wasn’t that she felt embarrassed to tell him these things. But she also wasn’t interested in going into detail.

“At the same time, I need to rebuild this coven into something better than it was before. And tonight, Vesta tries to protect me and I almost revert to my grandmother’s methods. I don’t want to lead them that way, but it’s the only way I’ve ever known. And then…”

Manon didn’t think she could articulate the vague sense of unease she’d been experiencing. “I’ve felt so…unsure of myself lately. As if I’m falling and can’t catch on to anything. I don’t know. It’s impossible to explain.”

“What were your grandmother’s methods?”

She looked at him in confusion. “ _That’s_ what you took from all I’ve just said?” He only nodded, remaining silent.

As if in a trance, her voice cold and hard, Manon repeated the words and rules that were beaten into Ironteeth witches from birth. “Obedience, discipline, brutality. We are born heartless, soulless. Disobedience is punished by public humiliation. Three unblocked blows. One to the gut to make you feel powerless. One to the ribs so you consider your actions every time you draw breath. And one to the face to remind you the punishment could have been worse.”

“Gods,” he whispered, his face a mix of sadness and concern. His reaction made her suddenly feel deeply ashamed.

“I know it sounds harsh. That’s why I want the Thirteen to be different. But it’s difficult to break from what we’ve been taught all our lives,” she said defensively.

“Manon,” he said quietly, “that’s not teaching. That’s manipulation…” He paused. “And abuse.”

She had no reply to this. She repeated those words over and over again in her head - _obedience, discipline, brutality, punishment, heartless, soulless_ \- examining them from the perspective of an outsider. You were made into monsters. Rhiannon’s words. Manon touched the red fabric tied to the end of her braid and whispered “I killed my sister.”


	3. Hope

Two days had passed since Manon’s near breakdown. After admitting to her sister’s death, Dorian had expected her to cry. The anguish in her face had broken his heart. So he’d reached to hug her, ready for the tears. Instead, she’d just kept repeating the words in a soft whisper, over and over.

“ _I killed my sister_.”

She’d fallen into his arms, so he’d held her tight against him, faintly rocking back and forth. At one point, he’d asked if she could tell him what had happened, hoping to bring her out of her trance. It hadn’t worked. She’d eventually stopped speaking and fell into a deep sleep. Unwilling to wake her, Dorian had sat like that the rest of the night.

He knew Manon was not one for hyperbole and exaggeration. So, he believed that she was responsible for her sister’s death. But he also knew she wasn’t heartless. Which meant that her grandmother was involved in whatever had transpired. In his head, the word ‘grandmother’ sounded the same way as 'father’, voiced with a mixture of hate and disgust. Only, there was a touch of anticipation at the thought of the Blackbeak Matron. His father was dead. She had yet to meet her fate. Gods, he was looking forward to that meeting.

This morning, the witches were busy packing up to move to a new camp site. Dorian was helping Sorrel ready the wyverns for flight. He found they reminded him of his dogs. Wyverns were pack animals who deferred to the alpha, each with his or her own personality. Abraxos was certainly unique, and not just because of his superior intelligence. His love of rolling in flowers and basking in the sun didn’t quite match their reputations as cold-blooded killers. He supposed that’s why Abraxos and his rider were so well matched. Manon defied all preconceived notions too.

Sorrel worked quietly, checking saddles and strapping packs on the wyverns’ backs. Dorian inched his way towards where she stood. He hated going behind Manon’s back, but he was desperate.

Manon hadn’t really acknowledged what had happened the other night. She’d avoided being alone with him, even going so far as to order him to remain in camp anytime she went flying. She’d kept brushing off his attempts to discuss it, insisting she was fine. Dorian knew that wasn’t true. And he knew Sorrel noticed it too.

“Sorrel. I need to ask you about something,” he said softly. The wyverns were fairly calm and he knew they would drown out any conversation, but he didn’t want to draw attention. One eyebrow raised, she nodded in answer, then went back to her task. She was the least talkative of the Thirteen, but he knew better than to mistake that for a lack of intelligence. This witch missed nothing and he knew she had Manon’s trust. “Is there anything you can tell me about Manon’s sister?"

Sorrel’s eyes flashed and he could have sworn she snarled at him. He almost laughed. She was perhaps the shortest witch he’d ever seen… But, she was still more than capable of kicking his ass. Dorian held his ground, held her fierce stare. "I’m trying to help her. She won’t talk to me about it.”

“Maybe there is a reason she won’t talk to you,” the witch replied. She turned away, a clear dismissal.

 _Damn it._ Dorian sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He had hoped this would go better. He knew Sorrel cared about Manon. It was likely she’d planned to approach Manon herself and just wanted him to stay out of it. This was Manon’s coven and he had no right interfering. But she needed help and he wasn’t going to just sit by and watch her suffer.

“I know you’ve noticed how she’s been acting. And with Asterin away, you’re her Second. That means you should be protecting her, right?” Sorrel whirled and unleashed a real snarl at him. This time he flinched.

“Listen princeling,” she growled, stalking towards him. Coming from Sorrel, Manon’s nickname for him sounded like a knife scraping glass. “This is none of your concern. Manon may be letting you stay for the time being, but you have no place in our coven. If you think you can worm your way in and take control just because you’re bedding her, you’re sorely mistaken.”

This was going badly. And he didn’t have time for it. He bent down to eye level with the witch and said in a low, dangerous voice, “Sorrel, I am only going to say this once, so I suggest _you_ listen.” She didn’t punch him. That was a good sign. “First, I am the King of Adarlan, not some sniveling princeling. Second, I have no godsdamned interest in controlling the Thirteen.” His anger was growing and Sorrel looked down to see tendrils of ice spreading quickly from where he stood. “And third, do you know when she last slept through the night? I do. It was two nights ago. In my arms. And _that_ was the first time in a week. I don’t give a shit about your witch politics. I only care about Manon and she needs our help.”

Dorian wasn’t sure if it was because of his threatening tone, his admission to having feelings for Manon, or his use of the word ‘our’. But after Sorrel had glared at him for several moments, waiting for him to back down, her features slowly morphed into a feral grin. “Good,” she said and turned back to her wyvern.

“Was that… Were you testing me?!” Dorian was _livid_ , and beginning to think he wanted no part of this coven. “Are you playing games with me right now? This isn’t a joke!” He was struggling to keep his voice down. The temperature had dropped significantly and the wyverns were becoming restless.

Sorrel’s expression sobered as she faced him. “No. I don’t play games. But now I know you are serious, King.” She spoke his title without mockery, only respect. He knew then that he’d won her over.

After a few calming breaths he said, “Please, call me Dorian.”

Sorrel told him all she knew about the half-sister, Manon’s connection to her Crochan bloodline. It wasn’t a lot, and most of it came secondhand from what the Shadows had overheard. But it was enough. Dorian was not surprised to hear that the Blackbeak Matron had orchestrated the whole thing. But the rest of what he was told enraged him enough that it took all he had not to unleash his magic. Not only had Manon been forced to kill the Crochan as both punishment for saving a Blueblood’s life and as an alternative to losing one of her Thirteen, but she’d had the witch’s true identity thrown in her face after being slashed almost in half by her grandmother. Dorian was somewhat appeased by the knowledge that Sorrel shared in his hatred of the Matron. In fact, the entire Thirteen were in agreement on that point.

“You should know something else Dorian. It may not matter but…” Sorrel hesitated. “The Matron often used Asterin to try to control Manon.”

“How?” He didn’t know Asterin but couldn’t believe she’d have betrayed Manon in any way.

“Asterin was always in her sights. Any excuse to punish her, the Matron used it. She tried several times to dispose of her, hoping the threat would keep Manon in line.” _Dispose_. The word made him feel sick. But he knew it was the Matron’s thinking, not Sorrel’s.

They returned to loading the wyverns in silence. When they finished, he said, "Thank you. For trusting me.” She nodded, her previous ferocity gone. As she turned to leave he said, “And Sorrel, I meant what I said. She needs _our_ help, not mine.” Another nod, this time accompanied by a sad, worried smile.

 

* * *

 

 

The group flew straight through the day without stopping. It was overcast so they were able to stay hidden and make good time. Of course, flying through cloud cover meant your enemies could hide too. But they hadn’t encountered any of the other Ironteeth covens or Morath’s evil creations. In fact, with only a few exceptions, Manon’s scouts hadn’t seen any signs of the enemy since they’d left Eyllwe. According to Edda, the rare sightings of ilken had been from downwind and far away. Manon hadn’t given it much thought though, she was preoccupied with other things.

She turned to her left, checking on Dorian. As he’d done all day, he was watching her from his spot behind Ghislaine. Even from this distance, she saw his bright, sapphire eyes, felt them burning into her. She faced forward again, not able to withstand his intense scrutiny for long.

Manon had ignored the looks from her Thirteen when she’d told Dorian to ride with another witch. Her claim that Abraxos needed the break from carrying an extra rider was met with doubt. Abraxos had been downright pissed off. She’d shot them all a glare that shut up any questions or comments. Dorian hadn’t reacted except to look at Sorrel. She’d ignored that as well, too tired to care.

Manon had spent much of the day in a stupor. Just as she’d spent the previous days. Her confession to Dorian the other night had released a floodgate in her mind. She’d been replaying all of her interactions with her grandmother, trying to see them through a different lens. A small part of her began to understand how her grandmother’s mistreatment could have influenced her own behavior, her bloodlust and rage. But anytime that more rational voice spoke up, it was repeatedly drowned out by a darker one that crooned _It means nothing. You did those things, not her. You are the monster. You feel nothing. You are nothing_. Both voices came from her, were her. But she quickly found it was so much easier to obey the darker, louder one.

She felt Abraxos begin to descend. Sorrel was in the lead, taking them down into a small field next to an old forest. The sun was quite low and Manon looked forward to an early night. It wasn’t until they landed that she realized only a few of the Thirteen were there - Sorrel, Ghislaine, and the two demon twins. As she searched for the others, Dorian hopped off Ghislaine’s wyvern and headed straight towards her. She hadn’t made a move to dismount so he climbed up to her.

He knelt and extended a hand. “We need to talk. Please Manon.” His voice was soft, and his eyes creased with worry. She glanced around at the others. The twins must have been sent out as sentries because only Sorrel and Ghislaine remained. She’d never seen their faces look like that before, a mix of fear and love. For her. “Please,” Dorian pleaded. She took his hand.

 

* * *

 

 

After Manon had told him to ride with someone else and flashed them with the first emotion he’d seen in days, he’d gone straight to Sorrel. She’d pulled Ghislaine aside and the three of them talked quickly before they had to leave.  
Manon wasn’t going to come to any of them. She seemed too withdrawn and lost to willingly ask for help. And he wasn’t comfortable confronting her in front of the entire coven. They all knew something was wrong. The lightening quick shift in her mood had them all concerned. But he wouldn’t put her through anything like one of her grandmother’s 'public humiliations’.

Sorrel had agreed and thought Ghislaine’s wisdom would be useful. She’d bring the twins as guards. The rest of the Thirteen would follow Vesta to set up camp a few miles away. They’d join them sometime later. Sorrel had reassured the red haired witch that this wasn’t her fault. Or Dorian’s, though Vesta had still glared at him as he’d mounted Ghislaine’s wyvern.

He’d made Ghislaine fly next to Manon all day even though that wasn’t her normal spot in the formation. He’d caught her up on what had happened but the wind had made it hard to talk. So he’d spent the long day watching Manon, sitting on Abraxos in a dark trance, barely holding on to his reins. The few times she’d moved had been to look at him, his heart speeding up each time he saw the gold of her eyes. She never held his gaze for long though.

But now. She took his hand.

He felt instantly lighter. He’d been afraid she would fight them, or just fly away. But she hadn’t noticed the coven split up and was still in a fog when they’d landed. He reached to release her safety harness. Something turned on in her and she snapped, “I can do it myself.”

He backed up to give her some space, not letting go of her hand. The look in her eyes was venomous - _Let go of me_. But he didn’t flinch. “I’m not afraid of you Manon.” This did nothing to change her expression, but she stopped pulling away from him.

By the time they got Abraxos settled, Sorrel had started a small fire. Manon sat down and asked defensively, “So what is this? You’re all going to tell me snap out of it?” Dorian saw it. The instant she remembered using those exact words on Aelin, after the ilken attacked their ship. And he saw the next instant when she sagged, as if in defeat. He hated to see her like this and wished beyond reason that he could simply snap his fingers and take away her pain.

To his surprise, Ghislaine spoke up first. “This isn’t something you can just snap out of, Manon. You aren’t just sad. This darkness is worse. And we want to help you through it.”

He hadn’t paid Ghislaine much attention at first. After a hard day of travel, one spent reliving new horrors from a nightmare, he’d been quietly sitting at the fire. When he’d heard one of the twins tease Ghislaine about having to leave her books behind, he’d perked up. But it was her angry reply, “Go to hell,” that drew his full attention. That was a human expression. They’d spent the evening talking about books and her time in a Terrasen school.

Manon looked around at the three of them. He fought every urge to be near her and deliberately sat a few feet away, hyperaware of his role here. These witches were her family, knew her better than anyone. They were in charge.

“And what do you know of it Ghislaine?” Manon’s anger had faded but she still had a bite to her words.

“I’ve never experienced it myself, only read about it. Not the same thing I know. But from what the King told me about your recovery on the ship, this isn’t new.” Dorian half expected Manon to give him one of her worst glares, which usually had the opposite effect on him of what she intended. But she only nodded.

Sorrel looked pained as she said, “I don’t know it first hand either, but I know how hard it was for Asterin. Your grandmother almost broke her after her witchling died.”

Before she could continue, Manon growled, “Don’t call her that. She is no kin of mine.” They were quiet as Manon said, “I know what she’s done to me. She made me into a monster. But I let her do it. For years I just…let her.”

“You speak as if you had a choice Manon,” Ghislaine replied forcefully. “Witches may not be known for their compassion but it’s different with witchlings. They are sacred. She was supposed to be raising you, caring for you. She didn’t. She is the fucking monster, not you.”

Dorian nodded in agreement, touching his neck. “You had as much choice as I did,” he said softly, catching her eye. “The only difference was that the collar she locked on you wasn’t visible."

 

* * *

 

 

Manon stared at him for a long time. She was thinking back to their conversation just a week ago. When she’d tried to convince him that the things he’d done under the valg’s control weren’t really his fault. She was different though; she’d certainly had more control over her situation than him. But she understood his meaning. She’d been manipulated since birth. It wasn’t until recently that she’d even questioned anything.

 _When did it change_ , she thought suddenly? A muffled growl from behind made her turn. Abraxos was laying close by, watching her intently. She gave him a small, sad smile and he huffed. _He started it_ , she thought. The moment they’d joined together to kill that feral bull. The moment she defied the Matron’s order to kill him. All the moments she’d refused, absolutely refused, to give up on him. And he’d fought just as fiercely for her.

And shortly after that, she’d met Elide. She should have killed the girl for spying the first time they’d met. But something had stayed her hand. The young witchling had opened her eyes. No matter that Manon had fought to keep them closed. Hope.

She’d not really believed in it until that day in Oakwald. The day she’d met Dorian and Aelin, learned the Terrasen queen lived. And learned a fearless human could stand against the valg.

And Asterin. By the Goddess, she missed her Second. Although she’d tried not to let it show, learning that Asterin had kept her ordeal at the hands of the Matron hidden for _decades_ … It had damaged Manon, shaken her self confidence. How had she never known? She’d noticed the change in Asterin all those years ago. But she’d never once bothered to question it. And she’d been so close to throwing her out of the coven. So close to doing the Matron’s bidding. She’d almost followed orders a second time when Asterin had been sentenced to die. Tears began to fall down her cheeks.

 

* * *

 

 

Dorian started to stand but a look from Sorrel stopped him. Then she said, "You are her greatest failure Manon. She spent how long trying to make you into her image? Decades of lies and threats and abuse. And yet here you are. You made the choice to defy her and all she stands for. _You_ chose to save lives, to fight against the evil she supports. _You_ chose to sacrifice yourself for the sake of the Thirteen. We fight for _you_. We are loyal to _you_. It was never for her.”

Manon nodded slowly, wiping the tears away. “Even when I did her bidding, she never approved. I guess I was never enough of a monster for her.” She continued in a whisper, “But that’s part of what hurts. How is it I can hate her and what she’s done, but still want her approval?” The other two witches looked at a loss, not sure what to say.

But Dorian knew. Knew exactly what she meant. “My life was spent seeking my father’s approval. When he deigned to pay me any attention is was usually to belittle me. And yet…I craved it. He enslaved and slaughtered whole countries. And I still wanted his love.” He paused, thinking about how his relationship with his father had made him into who he was. He carried many burdens, some much heavier than others. But he was not a monster. His father had failed, just as the Matron had failed with Manon. “Sometimes I think that was the worst part. You’re left feeling guilty for even wanting to be loved.” Manon looked as though she would cry again. But her expression was one of unexpected relief, not sadness - You understand. He smiled at her. “Don’t ever forget Manon. She tried to make you into what she wanted. But _you_ made yourself into someone different. Someone better.”

 

* * *

 

 

They sat in silence for a long time. Manon stared into the fire, processing everything they’d said. Sorrel was yawning, and Ghislaine was laying on her back, watching the stars.

“You know,” Dorian said, half smirking. “Someone once told me I was a good person.” Her two sentinels looked at each other in confusion. Manon rolled her eyes and turned away. “And if that is true,” he continued, “then it makes sense that I would chose to only surround myself with good people. Which means…”

Manon sighed and gave in to his ridiculously long pause, turning to face him. The smile that greeted her was impossible to ignore. His eyes were shining from the fire, in that way she’d come to like. A dimple just about to bloom at the corner of his mouth. “What is wrong with me,” she said, dropping her head and shaking it back and forth. She tried but couldn’t stop a small smile herself.

“I thought we just established that, Witchling. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

She looked back up and tilted her head, giving him a halfhearted glare. “I meant, why do I bother keeping you around Princeling."

Dorian raised an eyebrow and replied, "I’ve been told I have a pretty face.”

Ghislaine snorted out a laugh. Sorrel sighed, stood, and walked away. Ghislaine got up and followed, still laughing. But Manon didn’t think Dorian had even noticed them leave. He was still staring at her.

Softly, Manon said, “This isn’t just going to disappear, Dorian. I have over a hundred years of demons inside my head. Some of that torment is well justified. I can’t just forget about my sister.”

His smile fading, Dorian said, “Believe me, I know. And no one is asking you to forget. Just remember that you don’t have to face them alone. Remember our agreement to help each other.”

She hadn’t forgotten. But she’d easily convinced herself that her problems weren’t worth the bother. "And what of your demons? I won’t let you waste time on me when you have your own worries.”

He moved to sit by her, taking her into his arms. She hesitated but eventually leaned into him. “I’ll only say this once, Witchling. First, you are never a waste of my time. Second, my demons will certainly come back. When they do, I expect you to help me fight them. But for now, they are being kept at bay.” He paused before adding, “And third. Are you really over a hundred years old?”

She huffed a laugh into his chest. “You are an ass. And very lucky that you are much more than a pretty face.”

He squeezed her tighter and kissed the top of her head before whispering, “Thank you.” His voice broke her heart. He sounded genuinely surprised that someone would think well of him for more than his looks. She squeezed him back, promising herself to make sure he never doubted that again.

When they readied their bed rolls later that night, she didn’t comment on the proximity of his to hers. Her dark voice was still telling Manon it would be easier to feel nothing, be nothing. But it had been quieted a little. She was exhausted but didn’t find sleep right away. Instead, she thought of Rhiannon. She wondered if her sister had indeed given up hope in her, as the Matron had asserted. If she’d truly seen Manon as a monster, so removed from her Crochan blood that she wasn’t worth claiming as one of theirs.

She remembered the scene with bright clarity. The broken body of the Crochan, the veiled threat of retribution from the Matron, the plea in her sister’s voice. And there had been a plea. A plea for a quick death. After all the torture Rhiannon had endured at the hands of the Yellowlegs, Manon would have done it without the asking. As she thought through all her sister had said, she realized the Matron must have lied. If Rhiannon had believed Manon was a monster, truly lost to the Matron’s influence… Why had she wasted her last words trying to open Manon’s eyes? Trying to get her to understand she hadn’t been _born_ a monster, but _made_ into one. And being made means you can be unmade. _No_ , she thought. Rhiannon hadn’t given up on her. Not completely.

But the dark voice whispered _You want to believe that. It soothes your guilt. But you know it’s not true. You are still a monster_.

Manon closed her eyes tight and reached for Dorian. He wasn’t fully awake. But he slid closer and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her to him. She didn’t understand why, but his touch seemed to make her feel a little stronger. She went through her sister’s words again, listening to them through his ears. Through Asterin’s. Through Sorrel’s and Ghislaine’s. Her certainty grew. Her Crochan blood hadn’t given up on her, hadn’t forgotten her. And she would not forget them.

Just then, something Rhiannon had said that day crept to the surface of Manon’s memory. “Our secret isn’t where we hide…” There must still be a lot of them then. And maybe, not so spread out. A small spark lit inside her and began shaping itself into an idea. She couldn’t be sure… But it was enough to firm her resolve. She would do whatever it took to convince them to join her. And hopefully, forgive her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way I had Manon’s depression play out may have been too rushed to make it fully believable. But I did try to incorporate some of my own experiences with depression here (the rational part of you that knows feeling this way is stupid and a waste of time and selfish, and the louder part that knows you are stupid and worthless and selfish). It sucks. And people experience it in different ways. But I think it’s important to talk about and know it’s often not something that just disappears. Anyway… On a somewhat lighter note, I think Sorrel basically likes Dorian, but she is just too old for his shit.


	4. Smile

Manon woke up with Dorian’s arm still wrapped around her, his face inches from hers. He was asleep so she stayed where she was, not wanting to wake him. At least, that’s what she told herself. It had nothing to do with how good it felt to be held by him.

Studying his face, she wondered how this had happened to her. How _he_ had happened to her. She hadn’t figured out how or why Abraxos had taken her to Dorian when she’d been injured. Her wyvern must have flown nonstop for days to reach him. The shapeshifter had told her that Dorian tried to stop the Fae from shooting them from the sky. But those pricks had just ignored him, not standing down until the order came from the Terrasen Queen. And when she’d fallen into the ocean, Dorian was the one who’d immediately jumped in after her.

Manon hadn’t let on to him that she knew this. She’d fought to maintain a neutral expression with the shapeshifter, but inside, her mind had reeled. Why?! He’d stopped the white haired Fae from suffocating her in Rifthold. All of their debts were paid. They owed each other nothing. He’d said as much when she’d awoken, chained to the ship’s walls.

Eyes still closed, Dorian said, “Are you watching me sleep? That’s kind of creepy.” Manon rolled her eyes. “And if you keep rolling your eyes like that, they’ll get stuck.” Just as she was about to release an exasperated sigh, he continued, “And if you keep sighing…”

“You do remember I have iron teeth and nails Princeling,” she interrupted. He smiled and opened his eyes. And just like that she was lost in them. Trying to understand how they could be so blue. A sharp blue, the shade of a clear, winter sky just as it began to darken into twilight. She forced herself to quit staring, a bit surprised when her gaze fell away from his eyes. And landed on his lips.

She reached up and ran her thumb along his full lower lip. Several things struck her at once - their softness, the fact that she’d spent so little time kissing them, and the growing need to remedy that situation. With that touch, his eyes darkened with desire, and the space between them became dangerous, charged, like the air before a lightening storm. Dorian pulled her against him and she felt just how charged he was, her own body warming quickly in anticipation.

He ran a hand over her hip and grabbed her leg, hitching it up around his waist. Manon gasped as his hand slid back down to her ass and he pulled her even closer. She brought his face to hers and kissed him, biting down on that delicious lower lip. Dorian moaned and rolled onto his back, bringing her with him. She lifted her hips for him to undo her pants when something caught her attention.

She broke away from his mouth and raised her head to find Abraxos staring at them from a few feet away. Actually, he was glaring. Threateningly. Dorian craned his head to look at the wyvern upside down, then offered him a placating smile. Manon gave Abraxos a fierce look. _Back off_. The combination seemed to work as he released a pissy huff and lay back down.

Manon eased off of Dorian, the reluctance clear on her face. “I don’t suppose your shield can hide us from sight as it does sound,” she asked in a low, breathless voice?

Dorian smirked, replying, “Unfortunately, no.” As some of the naughtier implications of her question sank into his head he added, “But that… Is quite an intriguing suggestion Witchling. I will begin practicing today.” He kissed her forehead and held it for a long time, giving them both a chance to calm down. “How did you sleep?” She noticed the hint of trepidation in his voice, as if he worried that last night’s sleeping arrangement would scare her off.

“Not very well. But it was for a good reason. I think I know where the Crochans have been living. And…” It was her turn to hesitate. “I know we need to find the third wyrdkey. But I’d like you to help me find the witches first.”

He was quiet, his brows creased in thought. After a minute he said, “What’s our plan Witchling?”

 

* * *

 

 

Manon’s mention of the wyrdkeys shouldn’t have caught him so off guard. He certainly hadn’t forgotten about them. Hell, they throbbed with power inside the hidden pocket where he kept them secure. He had just been trying very hard not to think about them. About what would need to be done with them.

He was confident Rowan would find Aelin and bring her home. But he had already decided that regardless of her return, he would try to send Erawan back and close the gate. He was willing to do this to save his friends, his people, all of Erilea. He was willing to die for them. A meager payment for his wretched father. But that didn’t necessarily mean he _wanted_ to die.

 _Especially now_ , he thought with a wave of sadness, watching Manon sit up and stretch. She turned and smiled at him. A once rare gesture that was becoming more frequent. But a person would be missing out to think Manon only had a single smile. He was beginning to learn them, committing each to memory. This one was small, soft, a little sad, lit by the pink light of early morning. When her smile and the light reached her eyes, they practically glowed. He took her arm and gently pulled her back down to kiss her again.

Manon had a rough plan in mind. The Thirteen would remain split for the time being. Their current group would make their way to the hidden Crochan villages. He would act as an emissary, helping to convince the witches to join with them and Aelin’s forces. The rest of her coven would head to Morath, scouting out the enemy and sending Edda, her remaining Shadow, in to learn more about the key. They would meet again in two weeks.

After she’d announced this at breakfast, Dorian asked Ghislaine for more information about the Crochans. Their history, if they possessed magic, how they differed from the Ironteeth clans. He no longer trusted what he’d read about witches. And with most of the knowledge about the Crochans deliberately destroyed after the Witch Wars, there hadn’t been much in his books anyway. Ghislaine said she’d owned a few rare books that had survived the purge, but there was still a lot missing.

She began with old history, from before the Witch Wars. The Crochans had occupied the Western Wastes for a millenium, their border stretching from Terrasen in the north to Melisande in the south. But five hundred years ago, the Three-Faced Goddess had sent the Blueblood priestesses the vision of a united Ironteeth force defeating the Crochans and ruling the Wastes. Manon coughed pointedly, motioning for Ghislaine to speed it up. The dark skinned witch shot her a dirty look, waving her hand in dismissal. Dorian choked in a laugh. She continued though, eventually moving on to the subject of Crochan magic and healing powers, of which very little was known.

At the mention of healers, Dorian stiffened. His vision was just starting to blur when he felt someone grab his hand. With the other, he reached for his neck, coldness racing through him. The pressure on his hand increased to the point of pain, causing his head to snap up. He was gasping for air, unsure of how much time had passed.

Sorrel, Ghislaine, and the twins were looking between him and Manon, puzzled expressions on their faces. Manon. He turned and looked down at their hands. She still held his but it was an icy blue from his surge of magic. He quickly sent pulses of heat down his arm, feeling her grip loosen as her hand warmed. His face filled with shame. _I’m sorry for that. For hurting you_. She only smiled. _Don’t apologize. And I’m fine_. She turned to Ghislaine and told her to go on, but requested the ‘briefer’ brief version. The witches’ attention shifted back to Ghislaine as she continued.

Dorian wasn’t able to pay much attention after that. He’d been so close to falling into his nightmare. But Manon’s sharp squeeze of his hand had pulled him back. He looked down at their still joined hands, realizing that she hadn’t been too affected by his ice magic. She couldn’t have done what she did with a frozen hand. Before he could think too deeply about it, something Ghislaine was saying caught his ear.

“…may have been blessed with raw magic according to an old history book I read in Terrasen. It said they kept their powers secret so no one would know what they were truly capable of. But the author claimed that since they were more Fae than Valg, they possessed the Fae healing magic. She also said there had been reports of Crochan witches controlling the four elements, making crops grow, even taking on other forms. That’s probably a bit of a stretch. But I guess something of it must have been true for the Crochan Queen to have cursed the Wastes like she did.”

Dorian turned to Manon, finding her deep in thought. Ghislaine moved on to a new topic while Sorrel left to ready the wyverns. The twins had fallen asleep, either from all-night guard duty, boredom, or both. “What is it?” he whispered.

“I’m not sure…,” she said slowly. “I never considered what their more dominant Fae bloodline would mean for their magic. Elemental magic. Healing, shapeshifting…”

“Our Fae are capable of some of those things, but no raw magic,” Dorian said.

Manon cocked an eyebrow. “ _Our_ Fae, Princeling?”

He rolled his eyes, “Our Fae allies. Is that more…”

A loud cough interrupted them. Ghislaine. Arms crossed, iron teeth just visible through her snarling mouth. Dorian apologized, profusely, and asked her to go on. Again though, he found it difficult to concentrate on what she was saying. He was trying to remember something Manon had told him on the ship. About witch magic being unlike any other. But the almost memory vanished as Sorrel shouted for them to mount up.

Ghislaine was annoyed by the poor reception of her lesson, but Dorian thanked her. “Anything else you can remember about their magic or Queen Rhiannon would be helpful,” he said. She nodded, appeased and already turning inward to her thoughts as she climbed onto her wyvern.

It didn’t take them long to reach the rest of the coven. As Manon gave them their orders, Dorian noticed the shift in the witches’ demeanor. A wicked glee moved quickly through them, coming as much from Manon’s improved mood as from the promise of a new mission. These witches had instantly turned the course of the battle against Maeve’s fleet. The looks on Rowan’s and Aedion’s faces had confirmed his own opinion, that they were some of the best fighters he’d ever seen. Realizing Manon had missed the entire thing, he made a note to tell her how impressive they’d been. Even now, he caught a hint of pride as she watched the Thirteen prepare to leave. When her eyes found his, he nodded as if to say _You should be proud_. She shook her head. _The credit belongs to them_.

After the sea battle, Manon had told their group what she and Aelin learned in the witch mirror. But he knew she’d glossed over a lot of details. So, when he joined her at Abraxos’s side, Dorian asked her to switch positions with him on the wyvern. “I’d like to know everything you and Aelin saw in the witch mirror. It’ll be easier for me to hear if you sit behind me.”

He failed to mention his other reason for the request. Sitting behind her on the short ride this morning had done nothing to help him forget Abraxos’s earlier interruption. Not that her breath in his ear would calm his desire for her. But the topic of conversation should serve as a good distraction. From the look she was giving him, he thought she’d already guessed the second reason. Hell, he knew she must have felt it this morning. So he gave her a lazy grin and said, “Fear not Witchling. I promise to have an invisibility shield ready to test very soon.” She replied with a cool, smug smile, then motioned for him to climb into the saddle.

After he fastened the harness, she sat down behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Do you really think this will be easier on you, Dorian,” she purred into his ear. He shivered, at the sound of his name and the feel of her breasts pressed against his back. She began to draw one hand up his chest while the other slid down his leg. _Oh Gods_ … She released a breathy laugh into his ear and pulled herself tighter towards him. Suddenly remembering that he had magic literally at his fingertips, Dorian simultaneously grabbed the reins, re-positioned her hands to a more wholesome location, and pushed her away from his back. He heard a disappointed sigh from behind him and couldn’t help but laugh.

Abraxos looked back at them, clearly unhappy with their antics and the new seating arrangement. With some impatience, which did not go unnoticed by Dorian, Manon said. “Oh calm down. We’ll find you some flowers to roll in or an extra portion of meat tonight.” The wyvern let out a soft growl of agreement and pushed off the ground.

 

* * *

 

 

Dorian wanted to know everything that she and Aelin had seen in the mirror. She’d spared them most of it that day on the beach, only relaying the pertinent details. Partly because Aelin didn’t want Rowan to know _how_ she was meant to die. She had in fact made Manon swear secrecy in Rowan’s case. But it was also because Manon wanted to protect Dorian from that knowledge as well. Elena’s description of the physical effects of sealing the gate had been…unsettling. The instant she’d heard the ghost queen say Dorian was also able to complete the fatal task because of his bloodline, she’d begun calculating how to get around the ‘fatal’ part while still accomplishing the end result. But when Elena showed them the necessary wyrdmarks and magic to create the lock and seal the gate, her scheming had stopped. There was no way anyone could survive that. The vision of it, the knowledge that Dorian or Aelin would have to willingly submit to that… She’d been furious. Had that bitch of a queen been anything more than mist, she’d have shredded her on the spot.

Now, she was surprised by how easily she’d blocked this from her mind. It hadn’t been gone. Just shoved away, left to think about another day. She’d hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. Manon wouldn’t lie to Dorian. But she also wasn’t going to offer up specifics about that moment unless he pressed her for them.

They had another day of cloud cover as they flew to a large village where they could purchase supplies. Ghislaine, the most human of the witches, and not an exiled royal, went to get what they needed while the rest waited outside of the town.

So far, Manon had told Dorian about the first memory they’d witnessed - Elena locking Erawan away using the stolen lock and the subsequent confrontation by the angry gods and goddesses. Dorian had perked up at the mention of the deities who had handed down Elena’s - really, Aelin’s and Dorian’s - punishment.

“Do you remember which ones were there?” he asked now as they waited for Ghislaine.

She thought for several minutes. They’d been little more than shadow and light and only a few had spoken. “There were twelve but I couldn’t see them all. Anneith the wise. Hellas. Mala. Temis, protector of the wild.” She paused, irritated. “One who felt like the wind and sea and sky. I’m not aware of your name for that god. The war god. And the Three-Faced Goddess.”.

Dorian went through her list. “Deanna? Silba? Lumas? Any of them?”

“Not to my knowledge. But I don’t know all of your deities. The ones I named were the ones who spoke. The others weren’t visible. Why?”

Dorian sighed, his frustration evident. “It just feels… Don’t you find it strange how we were all brought together like that in the marshes? Elide and Lorchan showed up out of nowhere. He’s guided by Hellas, her by Anneith. You, a witch who worships the Three-Faced Goddess, were brought by your wyvern to our ship, no explanation for how he found us. Temis would make an excellent guide for a shapeshifter. Farnor, the War God for Aedion. The Sea God is also a god of oaths. Rowan. Aelin is straight from Mala’s bloodline. It’s as though we all have a role in this thing but I can’t… I can’t piece it all together.”

By the time he’d finished, Manon was staring into space, images speeding through her head. Dorian standing in front of the witch mirror, she and Aelin on either side of his reflection. The shadowy figures circling Elena. The bloodied King with Dorian’s eyes and sword. The Crochan Queen with Manon’s face, creating the memory mirror. Elena, dead after yielding her immortality for her mate. Then, a Fae King, forging a locket, sealing a tomb, and walking into his death amid a river of fire.

 

* * *

 

 

“Manon? Are you there?”

She blinked slowly, a hazy sheen to her eyes. “Your sword is Damaris. Sword of Truth.” Her voice was toneless, empty.

Now Dorian blinked. “Yes.” He knelt, his face inches from hers, hands on her shoulders. “It belonged to Gavin, my ancestor,” he continued, unsure of what was happening.

“You are guided by the God of Truth. I share the face of Rhiannon, Queen of the Crochans. We are all connected. We all have our part.” Her eyes suddenly focused on him with fierce clarity. “Some more important than others.”

A chill slithered down Dorian’s spine as he remembered something she’d told him the first night of this journey.

 _I_ knew _that if this world stood any chance, you had to be there to stop him_.

Manon’s eyes had gone from a cloudy bronze to molten gold in an instant. He wasn’t quite sure if she saw him, saw anything. “Are you there Witchling?” he whispered. He glanced worriedly back to Sorrel, who was keeping watch in the other direction. But Abraxos. His keen eyes were on them. They were piercing him, just as Manon’s had seconds ago. Another chill. He felt like he was on the verge of… What? Losing it? Slapping her awake? Slapping himself awake?

Manon blinked and started at his proximity. “What’s going on,” she asked, her voice back to normal.

“You were…in some sort of trance…or vision. Do you remember telling me about my sword?” She shook her head, eyes widening. “You told me I am guided by the God of Truth. We are all connected, all have a part. Some more than others.”

She was utterly still. “I have never heard of that god before.”

“He’s no longer openly worshiped but was popular during Gavin and Elena’s time. His temples were places of confession. Many bright, open…more presentable to the public. Others were dark and hidden. Temples sought by those who needed to confess to truly evil deeds. I think he was even depicted as having those two different sides - light and dark. A two-sided god.”

Manon’s expression made him go back over what he’d just said. “That kind of sounds like…” He trailed off, unable or unwilling to complete the thought.

She caught sight of something over his shoulder and he turned to see Ghislaine approaching with a cart filled with cold weather supplies. Sorrel and the twins ran over to meet her and they began dividing the items between wyverns.

Speaking quietly so the others couldn’t hear, Dorian asked, “Have you ever had a vision before?”

“No. Bluebloods are the prophets. Or Ancients,” she answered firmly.

“Crochans?” he countered.

“I’d have said no a day ago. But honestly… I have no idea,” she said with growing frustration.

He felt the same way. He knew that he and Aelin had been promised as unwitting saviors to fix Elena’s mess. But the others? Manon. Rowan. Elide. The Fae warriors. Aedion and Lysandra. Even Nesryn and Chaol. He felt sick at the possibility that forces outside their control had brought them together, nothing left to chance. Or choice. And if he was being truthful, it was looking more and more like a probability. Manon was watching him, nodding slowly as if in agreement.

“What is happening,” he muttered under his breath, eyes still locked on hers..

She stood, taking his hand and pulling him up with her. “I don’t know. But I would prefer to keep this with us for now. We need to find the Crochans. They are as much a key as the ones you carry.” He nodded and released a held breath, her surety helping to ease his tension.

He watched as she went to load packs on to Abraxos. A realization struck him like lightening. He focused his concentration on Manon and thought _Can you hear me, Witchling_?

She turned, a skeptical look on her face. “Of course I can.” Then she gave a mocking bow towards her wyvern. “Any day now Princeling.”

 

* * *

 

 

Dorian didn’t move, except to smile. _This_ smile was becoming her favorite. It was so full of hope, excitement. It didn’t happen often but she was always pulled in by it. His eyes were blazing with some newfound intensity. _Manon. I’m not speaking out loud_.

The words, in combination with the fact that… His mouth hadn’t moved…

She couldn’t move, except to shiver.


	5. Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorrel's pov

Sorrel Blackbeak couldn’t sleep. The storm raging outside the cave wasn’t to blame. _It doesn’t help_. On nights when she couldn’t sleep, Sorrel liked to make lists. It usually helped to clear her mind enough so she could nod off. Well, maybe ‘list’ wasn’t the right word for what she’d create in her head. On the surface, they looked like simple, straightforward, numbered things. But once her mind started moving, they evolved into something more like… Diagrams. Complicated, interconnected. Topics would loop around in circles, or spread out into webs. The complexity soothed her. It was just how she thought. How she made sense of things. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to put that process into words very well.

Sorrel supposed that was one reason why Manon referred to her as her “Stone”. Another reason - Sorrel was the epitome of impassivity. Witches weren’t known for being expressive. But while she felt emotions, expressed them even, she knew they barely registered on her face. As a quiet witchling, she’d quickly learned that others saw her as either stupid or a bitch. The latter wasn’t such a problem in an Ironteeth coven. But stupid… She hadn’t taken to that very well. She’d managed to turn the bullying to her advantage. It had helped focus her training, leaving her an expert at several weapons as well as hand-to-hand combat. Manon had seen through the label though. And she’d made sure the Blackbeaks knew Sorrel was her Third for her intelligence as much as for her fearsome fighting ability.

Sorrel loved serving as Manon’s Third. Stone to her ice and Asterin’s fire. She enjoyed being able to stand back and observe. Manage things within the coven quietly. Stone could influence and shape the things around it, turn them into something new. It was just more subtle. An invisible catalyst when compared to fire or ice.

A burst of cold wind blew into the cave mouth and she turned to face it, savoring the chill. The remnants of their fire combined with the body heat coming off the wyverns was becoming suffocating.

Crossing the White Fangs at this time of year had been risky to say the least. But they didn’t have the luxury of another option. The storm came on quickly after they’d reached the only pass that might be open. They’d hoped to push through it. Until the ice pelting them became painful and the wyverns were getting upset. She’d been about to veer off to look for a place to take shelter when Manon had announced there were several caves nearby that would hold them all. She had no idea how Manon knew that, but she trusted her. _Maybe Dorian’s magic sensed something_ , she’d thought.

The primary cavern was large enough to hold the five wyverns. There were a few small caves down passages that branched out from the main one. Sorrel hadn’t been surprised when Manon and Dorian took one for themselves. But she had an odd feeling that they wanted privacy for reasons other than sex. There was something going on that they weren’t sharing with her.

She sighed and nodded her head. _Guess I’ll start with them_.

**One. Manon and Dorian.**

_It has something to do with his magic_. She knew that much. There was some sort of connection between them. But witches didn’t have mate bonds like the Fae. She knew of no other possibilities. _Ghislaine might_ , she thought, making a mental note to ask the witch when they had a moment alone. With nothing else to go on, she sifted back through recent events to see if something would stand out as a clue.

Looking back on it, she should have been suspicious when Manon and Asterin took that quick trip to Rifthold. They’d told her where they were going, just not why. And later, Sorrel hadn’t questioned Manon’s insistence to leave the King to her during the battle. It had made sense - take him prisoner rather then kill him.

But after Abraxos had called them to his perch atop the castle, Sorrel knew something was wrong. She knew it because of Asterin’s lack of concern that the King had escaped. Like that had been the plan. It had pissed her off. Not because they’d done it without her. But because she knew that if there was any way to maneuver it, the Matron would take this out on Asterin. She was pissed that Manon had put her own needs before the Thirteen’s.

Sorrel couldn’t bring herself to directly challenge Manon. But she’d made her displeasure clear the morning Asterin was supposed to die. She’d thrown the blame of her Second’s impending death at Manon’s feet. But afterwards… After Manon had slashed the Matron and told them to run… After she’d followed orders, leaving her heir in danger, and pulled Asterin out kicking and screaming… After they had no idea if Manon was alive or dead… She’d hated herself. Hated that she’d doubted Manon. Hated that she’d played into the Matron’s game.

She’d felt like a traitor even after they’d gotten free of the Matron’s search parties and she’d had time to talk to Asterin. Had learned the why of that first flight to Rifthold. Asterin told Sorrel that she’d noticed something between Manon and Dorian at their first meeting. Sorrel remembered hearing pieces of that conversation and thinking nothing of it. A rare mistake on her part - she inwardly prided herself on picking up on things most people ignored. But she must have missed it because she was Second at the time and had been more concerned with Manon’s immediate safety. She’d been paying more attention to the Prince’s hands, and their proximity to any weapons, than his words

Sorrel had despised those few weeks as Second. She’d felt like she was being torn in half. On one end, Asterin, who had suffered so much at the hands of the Matron and insisted on keeping it hidden from Manon. And then Manon, wanting to fight against the chains of her grandmother, but ultimately unable to disobey. Both witches with big, commanding personalities. She preferred being the quiet, stoic Third. Even now, as acting-Second in Asterin’s absence, Sorrel didn’t feel completely at ease.

But…that seemed to be changing. Quickly. She felt herself falling back into her position as Third. As Dorian was growing closer to Manon.

She’d hated him for his unwitting part in their current situation. Even after Asterin told her that both Rifthold incidents had been instigated by Manon, not Dorian. Her elation at finding Manon alive at the marshes had even been dimmed by his presence. Her mind overcome with the problems they’d face if they associated with him. The Matron would still be after them, but Morath seemed to have moved on to bigger things. One of which was the exiled King of Adarlan. They were just asking for trouble if he was allowed to join them.

But she’d remained silent. It wasn’t her place to point out problems to Manon. Sorrel had decided that if nothing was done, she’d put pressure on Asterin to bring it up. But when Abraxos had _let_ Dorian climb up and sit behind his rider… Sorrel had almost gasped. Manon had only ever let Kaltain and Elide share her wyvern. And really, both times had been more by necessity than anything else. Sorrel shivered now at the memory of that _thing_ inside Perrington riding with her on Lechen. Her bull had reared at its approach and she’d hated forcing him to carry the demon.

But. Dorian atop Abraxos. That was when she’d realized the true extent of the changes coming. Not the looming war; that was just another day to her. And not their plan to find the Crochans. No, Manon seemed to have feelings for the King. Trusted him. Discovering Manon’s bloodline as a Crochan Queen hadn’t rattled Sorrel at all. But this certainly had. So, trusting in her heir, she’d decided to give Dorian a chance.

She was glad of that decision. When he’d first approached her about Manon’s mood, she’d been taken aback by his mention of her half-sister. But after hearing more, she’d realized Dorian’s concern was genuine. And, she’d had to admit, she was impressed that he asked for her help. Anyone else and she’d have been suspicious of their motives. But his sincerity was obvious to her. The respect he’d shown them all during their talk with Manon had further strengthened her opinion of him. Sorrel was still obligated to keep an eye on him as acting-Second. But she was beginning to trust him on her own, not as an off-shoot of Manon’s trust. His hatred of the Matron was a definite plus in her mind.

The thought of the witch made Sorrel feel sick. _Well_ , she thought, _might as well deal with her_.

**Two. The Blackbeak Matron.**

Gods, how Sorrel hated that bitch. She figured she was about third in the line of people wanting to kill her. _Maybe fourth. After Dorian_ , she thought. _No, Abraxos third, Dorian and I in fourth_ , she mused, remembering the day the little wyvern had made the crossing in the Ferian Gap. The murderous snarl he’d unleashed at the Matron had warmed Sorrel’s heart. Asterin’s too.

She’d never forget what the Matron had done to Asterin. What had happened in that birthing room. Things had moved so quickly. The birth itself, threatening to kill Asterin. The sinking realization that the witchling was not crying. The sudden, violent reaction of their Matron. When the first blow had landed on Asterin, Sorrel was too shocked to even move. Stillborns were a source of shame to the Ironteeth, something she had never agreed with. Seeing the Matron strike out like that though… It had been incomprehensible. _Maybe if I’d attacked then_ … she thought now, never able to replay that moment without wishing she’d done more.

It wasn’t until she’d heard the order for the attendants to burn the witchling that Sorrel broke free from her stupor. They’d been too quick for her to stop them though. When the Matron asked for the branding tools, Sorrel had exploded. She didn’t give a shit about rank or hierarchy. She went for the Matron, fully intending to kill her if necessary. But the ancient witch had simply turned and grabbed her by the throat, holding her off the ground. Like it was nothing. Sorrel had scrambled to regain her footing, clawing at the witch’s arms. But the lack of air quickly took its toll. When she’d been released and fell to the floor, the Matron’s coven grabbed her. Before they could pull her from the room, the Matron closed in and hissed, “This is your only warning Sorrel Blackbeak. Try anything like that again and you’ll be dead. Along with your precious heir.” She took hold of Sorrel’s arm, snapping it like a twig in several places. Sorrel had almost thrown up. Not from the pain, but from the threat to Manon. Either way, it had done the trick as she was barely able to resist being taken from the room.

She’d been thrown down some deserted hallway and must have passed out. When she’d regained consciousness, she set her arm and ran back, only to find an empty birthing room. No one would tell her where Asterin was, if she was even still alive. She’d gone to Vesta and the two of them searched the Keep. When Sorrel had found Asterin outside in the snow, discarded like the Matron’s trash, she’d wept for the first time in her life.

Vesta volunteered her mountain home and they flew Asterin there, unsure if she’d survive the journey. When she did, and when her physical wounds were healing, Sorrel thought the worst had passed. She hadn’t been prepared for the coming months of darkness that swallowed Asterin whole. She’d never seen anything like this and had no idea how to help. So, while Vesta spent her time with Asterin sharing coven gossip or reliving epic fights with Crochans, Sorrel had been at a loss. She wasn’t able to do that. Idly chat about nothing. So, she’d come to sit by Asterin’s bed, spending long, quiet hours with her. Sometimes, Sorrel would hold her hand, gripping it firmly in the hopes that some of her strength would transfer to Asterin. Gradually, she began to notice Asterin squeezing her hand back.

As time passed, Asterin began eating on her own, showing more interest in Vesta’s stories. One day as Sorrel sat down next to her, Asterin took her hand and thanked her. Sorrel hadn’t been able to reply, too overcome with emotion. Surprise, happiness…and then shame. Finally, she’d said, “There’s nothing to thank me for. I failed to protect you.”

”There was no way to protect me from that. Any of it. The Matron, losing my witchling, this,” Asterin had said, gesturing around the room she hadn’t left in weeks. “We’re both lucky to be alive. And I’m only here because of you and Vesta. Thank you.” Sorrel nodded in acknowledgment, clasping Asterin’s hand tighter

Asterin’s forgiveness had helped to ease her guilt, but it had never left her completely. Even after Asterin had returned to Blackbeak Keep, carrying Crochan trophies from her recent hunt, Sorrel knew the Matron would never be appeased. Her survival had only led to more creative punishments, new ways to use Asterin to keep Manon in line. Sorrel came to realize that although she could have fought harder that day, nothing was going to stop the Matron in her vendetta against Asterin. And with the threat to Manon still looming over them, their hands were tied.

Now, her worry about the Matron stemmed from the fact that she didn’t seem to be searching for them. After killing the initial group of witches sent after them, the Thirteen hadn’t seen a single one. She could understand the ilken and other monsters not bothering, especially as it seemed the King’s presence with them was not yet widely known. But the Ironteeth should be combing the eastern half of the continent for them. Their absence was troubling.

_What is that bitch up to?_

Her worry had only increased when the Thirteen split up. Vesta didn’t seem to care that they weren’t being hunted. She chalked it up to their reputation - none of the other covens would dare to come after them. Sorrel knew that was wishful thinking and had made Vesta promise not to take any foolish risks on their mission to Morath.

As for their small group, she could only hope they made it to the Crochans before any of their enemies could find them.

 _We’ll need all the blessings from the Three Faced Goddess that we can get to pull this off_.

**Three. The Crochans.**

There were a lot of ways in which Sorrel made a poor Ironteeth witch. Her short stature was an anomaly, and unlike most witches, she rarely bedded humans. But perhaps worst of all, she got no pleasure from killing Crochans. Oh, she’d done her duty over the years. But she’d done the bare minimum when it came to exterminating their witch cousins. And that’s how Sorrel saw the Crochans, distant relations who were more like them than not.

She’d never quite understood the reason for the Witch Wars of so long ago. In fact, it had seemed to her that the Crochans were simply defending themselves against an unreasonable Ironteeth invasion. Learning about the destruction to the land and witches from both sides… It had sickened her. Sorrel was a strong fighter who enjoyed sparring. And she wasn’t one to shy away from defending herself or those who needed help; she was actually looking forward to allying with the other forces against Erawan. But she secretly believed the Witch Wars had been a horrific waste, instigated by some flimsy vision of the Bluebloods, for no reason other than greed. She couldn’t get over the idea that any Ironteeth witch could have easily been born into a Crochan clan. Or vice versa. They were all witches, all the same.

When the Thirteen learned of Manon’s Crochan blood, a cynical part of Sorrel had expected the others to react poorly. Instead, most had seemed indifferent, others a little nervous, unsure of how to take the news. Asterin had given them a rousing speech about their duty to Manon, no one else. That had garnered support from most of the coven. The few remaining hold-outs had looked to Sorrel. She’d simply said, “I can’t think of anyone better to follow than a Queen who was promised to bring peace.” Asterin, ever Manon’s fire, had whooped joyfully, whipping the Thirteen into a frenzy of new purpose. Sorrel had released a long breath. A breath that felt as if it had been held for a century. She’d never regretted serving Manon or being part of the Thirteen. But many of the Ironteeth ways had chaffed her throughout her life. With the Shadows’ revelation that Manon was a Crochan Queen, and the Thirteen’s complete acceptance of it, she’d almost felt reborn.

After Manon had announced her plan to locate the Crochans, Sorrel had grown excited, full of anticipation. She couldn’t get over the feeling that something big was going to come from this. Not necessarily for her or the Thirteen, but for their entire world. Witch, human, and fae alike.

Sorrel was relishing this thought when she heard a noise behind her and reached for the dagger she kept in her boot.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Dorian apologized. She nodded in reply and he sat down along the opposite wall of the cave entrance. “Can’t sleep?”

“The storm is too loud. And someone needed to keep watch.”

He smiled, as if he knew none of that was true. _He smiles too much_ , Sorrel thought grumpily. _What’s wrong with him_? But then she remembered that first day when he’d had some sort of episode and almost fell off Abraxos. And she thought of that collar that had been around his neck in Oakwald. _It’s amazing that he can even smile after that_ … “And you?” She was prying. But he’d started the conversation.

He flipped his hand dismissively. “Just a nightmare. I should be used to them by now.”

“The same one each time?”

“No. And I haven’t decided if that’s good or bad.”

“That would be a difficult decision,” she agreed. They sat and watched the storm for awhile. It looked like the snow and sleet were tapering off, but the wind was still bad. Softly, Sorrel said “I never thanked you for helping Manon the other night.” She studied him, deciding how much she should say. “As Blackbeak heir, Manon was isolated her entire life. Some of it self-imposed. But even that was a result of the Matron’s rules. It’s important for her to know that she has people she can talk to. People who understand.”

She was thinking of Dorian’s admission about his father. She’d been at a loss when Manon had confessed to having such conflicted feelings about her grandmother. Sorrel’s hatred of the Matron was too overpowering for her to see how someone could ever want her approval. But he’d understood immediately. That one moment had altered something in Manon - she’d finally realized that she wasn’t alone.

Thinking about the humility he’d showed in that moment, Sorrel blurted out “You aren’t very kingly.” Dorian flinched at the remark. Sitting up on her knees, she threw her hands up defensively, “No! No, I didn’t mean… That came out wrong!” She plopped back down. “Shit,” she muttered, covering her red face with her hands. “Shit!”

He actually laughed. She rarely got this flustered and normally would have been mad at herself for it. But if he found it entertaining after what she’d said…she didn’t care. She took a breath and said, “I meant that you aren’t what I expected for a king.”

“And what did you expect?” he asked.

“Cruelty, arrogance. Rule by force. But instead, you deferred to Ghislaine and me. Listened to what we said, followed our plan.“ She paused, “You don’t seem kingly because you are better than any king I’ve heard of.”

Dorian dipped his head and said, “Thank you, Sorrel.” She relaxed, happy to have smoothed things over. “I have to admit, you witches are nothing like what I’d expected. You aren’t as murderous and evil as the history books claim.” He looked around the cave, and whispered, “Well… The twins might be an exception…”

Sorrel laughed and admitted, “Yeah, sometimes they scare the shit out of me too.”

"Your plan to corrupt the Thirteen seems to be coming along, Princeling. You’ve managed to make my Third laugh,” Manon teased, walking over to sit with them. She sighed and said, “You disappoint me Sorrel. You barely put up a fight.”

“My apologies Manon,” she said, still smiling. “You know I can’t resist such a pretty face.”

They both laughed this time. Dorian crossed his arms, pretending to be hurt. “I’m beginning to dislike witch humor. I may have to pull rank.”

“Please do, King,” Sorrel countered innocently. “The demon twins need some sparring practice.” Dorian shot Manon a look of not-quite-pretend terror that started the witches laughing again.

Sorrel realized she liked this new dynamic. The changes Dorian had brought out of Manon. The changes she’d made to their coven. She was still Manon’s stone. But stone could change, reshape itself. Erode, then build back up into something new.

After a few minutes, Sorrel noticed the quiet that had fallen on them and turned to see Dorian and Manon sharing a meaningful look. Not in the way that she’d come to expect from them. The way that resulted in a slight roll of her eyes and an early bedtime. This look was… Different. Making the hairs on the back of her neck tingle.

As she made her usual move to get out of there, Manon stopped her. “Wait Sorrel. Go get Ghislaine. We need to talk.”


	6. Magic

_You should tell her Manon. She and Ghislaine might help us understand your magic._

Manon still felt uneasy about admitting that she and Dorian could read each others thoughts. Well, not read exactly. Send and receive.

_They care about you. They would want to help._

Manon stared at him, trying to make up her mind. All of a sudden, Sorrel stood and began to walk away.

“Wait Sorrel. Go get Ghislaine. We need to talk.”

 

About 2 days earlier…

Upon first realizing she’d been silently communicating with Dorian, Manon simply froze. For the second time in her life she was truly afraid. She thought she was going insane. Something must have broken in her mind from the stress of the past few weeks. So, she just stood there. After a minute, she felt Dorian next to her. Using his magic so no one noticed the state she was in, he guided her to Abraxos and helped her into the saddle, then took hold of the reins.

After they were airborne, she twisted around, failing to hide the panic on her face. She only just managed to choke out the question. “What’s happening to me?”

Dorian’s smile was reassuring. “You must have some magic from your Crochan side. Maybe it was dormant and for some reason, has just started to make itself known.” His voice was calm, certain. What he said made sense, even if she’d never heard of this type of mind-reading magic before. But she couldn’t quell all of her doubts.

 _You are a monster. It’s no surprise you’d lose your mind. Your grandmother is lucky to be rid of you. You are a failure_.

That voice again. It hadn’t troubled her yet today. Had that been the first sign? Proof that she was falling apart? Her hands began to shake as she thought of the vision she’d just had. Vision or hallucination? Was there even a difference?

“Manon, it’s ok.” Dorian took her hands in his and held them tight. “There’s nothing wrong with you. I promise.”

“How do you know that?” she whispered.

Pulling her closer to him, he said, “I know because when my magic first appeared, I was scared too. I didn’t understand what was happening and I was afraid I’d hurt someone or be found out. But I’m still here. I may not be able to explain how this works or why it just started now, but we’re on our way to see people who can. Just breathe Manon. It’s ok.” He took several deep inhales and exhales. She joined in, willing herself to pull it together.

She concentrated on the rhythm of her breathing and began to calm down. As she did, she became aware of the others flying nearby. She didn’t want them seeing her like this and asking questions she didn’t have answers to. And that thought brought all her questions rushing to the surface. Not wanting to forget them, she rattled them off quickly.

“So, is it just me hearing your thoughts? Or do you hear mine too? Is it hearing or are we actively sending them? Why isn’t it happening all the time? And why can’t I hear any of the others? Is it just thoughts or can it work with images or feelings? Is this raw magic or something else?”

Dorian laughed. When she turned and leveled her fiercest glare at him, he had the decency to stop. But his smile remained. “Sorry, I’ve just never heard you speak so fast. I think you are picking up my thoughts. Especially if I focus on…sending them to you? Like I did before we took off.”

“So, you can hear mine?” She fought to keep the worry from her voice. Worry that he’d be able to know what she thought or felt at any moment. He laughed again. And stopped again when he saw the iron glinting from behind her snarl. “Did you just do it?”

“No, I can’t see into your mind. But your face gives you away, Witchling.” She relaxed a bit as he continued. “I’ve felt flashes of things from you. Not complete thoughts. You can probably send them though. We should test it while we’re flying.”

And so they did just that. For the few hours before they stopped to camp for the night, they practiced sending to each other. Dorian theorized that this was all her magic. She was controlling it but his raw magic allowed him to ‘play along’. That would explain why nothing seemed to be happening when she targeted one of the other witches. But she didn’t quite believe that she was the only one directing the exchanges. A few times she’d sensed him blocking her and he hadn’t known what she’d sent. It seemed to be unconscious on his part. But it had been enough to convince her there was something more happening.

Dorian suggested she talk to Ghislaine about her newfound magic. “She might have read about it being present in the Crochans. Or she might know of some other group that can do this.” Manon balked at the idea though. She was still hesitant to share everything with her coven. Especially if it was something she didn’t have a grasp on yet.

Towards the end of the day, rather than a fully formed thought, Manon tried sending him a memory. When he leaned in, brushed his nose down her neck and kissed the edge of her collarbone… Her breath hitched and she arched her back into him. Yes, it had worked.

“Careful Witchling,” Dorian said roughly into her ear, his desire evident. “Your wyvern will dump us both on the ground if you do that again.”

As confirmation, Abraxos let out a low growl that she felt more than heard. Manon turned and growled right back “Traitor.” He huffed, unconcerned. _Damn males_.

By nightfall, they’d made it well into the foothills of the White Fangs, farther than they’d planned. As they ate, Manon tried again to ‘listen’ to Sorrel and the others without success. She stopped, a bit embarrassed when Ghislaine asked “Are you alright Manon? You look like you’re going to be sick.”

 _Remind me to never let you gamble, Witchling. I guess I shouldn’t have worried about you rigging the outcome of this war_.

 _Watch it, Princeling. I’ll take that smirk off your face_.

The wicked grin that spread slowly across his face caused a pleasing warmth to spread through her. “Traitor”, she hissed to herself.

 _It’s too bad your shielding isn’t better. We could have tested that out tonight. Oh well_.

He tried to cover his laugh with a cough but it hadn’t fooled the others. Sorrel walked away sighing while Ghislaine turned to talk to Faline. Manon took the opportunity to send some other recent memories to Dorian. He shifted uncomfortably, coughing again. She barely managed to suppress a laugh. But her smile vanished when he sent images of his own. They’d consisted of several things he’d be doing to her if they were alone. Smiling innocently, she stood and announced she was going to bed, feeling his intense stare as she left the small group. Then, she felt his anticipation as he planned to join her. But instead of selecting a spot outside their camp, she set up her blankets near Sorrel, in plain view of everyone. She sent him a quick image of his hand. His laugh made her heart skip. _Traitor_ , she thought, as she lay down and closed her eyes, unable to stop her smile.

The next day, they began traveling up into the higher mountains. The winds and threat of bad weather made it too risky to focus on anything other than flying, though they still did most of their talking silently. When the storm hit and it was clear they’d have to stop, Dorian pointed to a cliff not too far away.

 _I can sense an open space there. The cave might be big enough to shelter us and the wyverns_.

It was actually just big enough to hold them but the opening was too small for them to all fly through. So they took turns, one wyvern and rider squeezing itself into the entrance while the others flapped precariously in the rising winds. Once they were all inside, the witches got their wyverns settled while Dorian used his magic to dry them off and start a fire.

Now that they were safe, warm, and eating what passed for dinner, Manon tried again to communicate with her coven. She was frustrated that it didn’t work with them. She’d known them almost her entire life. _Maybe Dorian was right about the raw magic_ , she thought. Despite this setback, her mood and opinion of her new ability had shifted dramatically from the day before. _Just yesterday_ , she thought, incredulous at how quickly everything seemed to be moving. Dorian’s reassurances had helped. But she was simply becoming more comfortable with the magic the more she used it. Improving her control over it. She knew she was far from any sort of mastery. But her previous fears had eased.

The wyverns took up so much space and snored so loudly that the twins and Ghislaine said they’d find somewhere else to sleep. There were several passages leading out from the main cavern that they’d explored earlier. A few opened into large crevices or rooms of their own. Sorrel opted to stay by the fire, which Dorian promised would stay warm all night. Manon had agreed with the others and chose a passageway at the back of the cave.

Manon made her way slowly in the dark. She could see easily in low light, but she didn’t think Dorian could, and she sensed him following her. She had a plan for the night and this would be the only time she went easy on him. A short way into the passage she came to an opening on one side and went in. It was darker, but dry, offering plenty of space to spend the night. She dropped her things and remained standing with her back to the entrance, aware of Dorian’s presence. He’d been surprisingly silent. But her senses were too well developed for him to sneak up on her. He knew it too and gave up the ruse by creating a handful of fire and setting it on the ground. The room seemed to come alive as the firelight cast shadows that danced along the uneven walls. Spots where minerals were exposed sparkled different colors when the light hit them.

“First the ship, now a cave. You seem to enjoy barging into whatever room I occupy Princeling.”

“You seem to enjoy teasing me senseless Witchling.” He sounded a little out of breath.

Still not facing him, Manon reached back and slowly pulled the red tie from the end of her braid. She made a show of undoing her long hair as she said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

As she took a step further into the cave, Dorian grabbed her arm, turned her around, and pulled her against him. Forcefully. Not that she minded, savoring the pulse of excitement that raced through her. When she saw his dark eyes, she knew how much he wanted her. They were almost black, but not from the low light. Desire had made his pupils so large there was only a sliver of blue visible. He held her so their lips were inches apart. She moved even closer and ran her iron nails up his back. They were both breathing heavily in anticipation, waiting to see who broke first. When she reached the back of his head, she tangled her fingers in his dark hair and pulled. Forcefully. His answering groan brought a smile to her lips.

She ran her tongue up his exposed neck then purred, “I wonder. Can I make you beg tonight?” He said nothing, his head tilted back, eyes closed, heart pounding. When she released his hair and they met each others gaze, she cocked her head and said, “I forgot. Kings don’t beg.”

His eyes burned into her but she couldn’t look away. “They do for their queens.”

Manon’s mouth fell open but before she could say anything, Dorian was kissing her. More than kissing. He was devouring her. She felt his desire, not just physically, but as a wave of sensation. In seconds, she was overcome by her own hunger for him, her hands in his hair, her leg wrapping around his. Without leaving her lips, Dorian bent and ran his hands along the backs of her legs, lifting her when they reached her ass. When he slid her over the hard bulge in his pants, they both moaned, finally breaking apart to gasp for air.

Dorian growled, “You have no idea how much I want you.”

She smiled. “I think I do.” She ran her thumb over his bottom lip. Then, more slowly, her tongue.

“No. You don’t.”

With a few quick flicks of his hand, Dorian used his magic to spread their bedrolls out on the ground. Before she knew it, he was kneeling and laying her down on top of them. He pulled his shirt off, almost tearing it, and then went for hers.

In a quick movement he clearly wasn’t expecting, Manon grabbed his hands and pulled him down onto her. Her legs still wrapped around him, she rolled them over so she was now on top, straddling his waist and holding his arms along his sides.

 _I think I will be in charge tonight Princeling_.

His answering smirk would have pissed her off if it had come from anyone else. But from him… That heat inside Manon rose and she knew she couldn’t keep this teasing up for very long. She wanted him as badly as he wanted her.

He reached for her shirt and she forced his arms back down, her iron nails punching out in warning. Making sure she rubbed herself against him - as much for her benefit as to provoke him - she leaned down to whisper in his ear, “No touching. You come when I say you can come. You move when I say you can move.” Feeling his body tense slightly at that last command, she added more softly, “Trust me Dorian.”

She sat up to look in his eyes, sending a silent question. _Shall I stop?_

He shook his head. _No Witchling. I’m yours to command_.

Manon’s heart, already thrumming at a rapid pace, felt like it skipped several beats. She’d known this might be risky. Might trigger a bad memory for him. Which was why she’d been sure to ask. His reply though… His complete trust in her came as a surprise. They’d said it and acted on it many times before. But this moment felt different. More certain. More binding. _They do for their queens_.

She forced his earlier words out of her head and refocused on him. His bare chest beneath her, his strong arms in her hands. She pushed herself down the rest of his torso, following with her mouth. As her loose hair trailed behind, Dorian made another attempt to touch her but she held him down.

She knew her glare no longer worked on him, but she flashed it at him anyway. All part of the teasing. “What did I say Dorian,” she growled, drawing his name out just a little to see what he’d do. She smiled at the barely audible sigh that escaped him. “I can’t let go of your arms to undo your pants if you continue to disobey.”

Manon felt the muscles in his forearms relax. He moaned as she pulled down his pants and began stroking him. When she took him in her mouth, he arched his back and gripped the blanket in his fists. “Oh fuck…” Her tongue swirled around him as she lightly dragged her nails down his chest. When she increased the pressure of her tongue and lips, his body shuddered and she released him. She hadn’t planned to spend long on that part of her seduction. But she loved how Dorian reacted to her. He was, even now, still panting her name, fighting to keep from running his hands through her hair.

Manon stood to quickly remove her pants then returned to kneel over him. He’d not touched her but she could tell he was still struggling. She gave him a wicked grin as she lowered herself enough to tease him with her nearness. “Can you feel how wet I am,” she crooned, moving on top of him without letting him inside her. He swore again and closed his eyes, as if watching her like this was too much for him to bear. When he bit into his bottom lip… _Oh gods_ … The sight of him almost made her lose control.

Right before she was about to give in and fuck him, he opened his eyes and begged. “Manon, please… I need to touch you. I need to be inside you. Please…”

Trying to hide her relief, she whispered, “Good Princeling. You may touch me now.”

He burst into movement, tearing her shirt off and pulling her down to kiss her, one hand spreading through her hair, the other reaching between her legs where he pushed his fingers into her. Manon moaned and began moving on them. His tongue matched the pace and motions of his fingers and she had to pull away. It was too much. She was already so close. But she didn’t want to come from his hand.

She sat up, repositioned herself, and then slowly slid onto him. She was lost for a moment in the sensation of him filling her so completely. Dorian held her hips firmly as she rode him. She leaned back and cried out as he pushed into her, nudging just the right spot. Her orgasm came on so suddenly that she forgot to breathe. Forgot everything except the throbbing heat that coursed through her.

When she collapsed onto him, Dorian paused, held her tight and kissed her neck. Still gasping, she smiled and said, “I didn’t…say you could…stop.” He let out a rough laugh and resumed, holding her in place as he thrust inside her, again and again. She brought his face to hers and kissed him, making gentle bites on his bottom lip.

Matching his rhythm she soon felt herself on the verge again. Manon pushed herself up and Dorian cupped her breasts. The sensation of his fingers brushing her nipples sent her over the edge, this time shouting his name. He drew her back down to him as she came, groaning with each spasm that tightened around him. “Now Dorian…” He clasped her tighter and cried out as he exploded inside her.

 

* * *

 

They lay like that for awhile, until they could both breathe. “Remind me to let you be in charge more often,”

Manon laughed as she rolled off him. “Let? Good one, Princeling.” He turned and kissed her cheek, feeling her smile.

When their body heat dissipated and she began to shiver, Dorian got up and put a blanket over her. After he dressed, he pulled a heavy shirt from his pack, handed it to her, and bowed. “My apologies for your shirt Witchling. It performed its duties well. But alas, it could not withstand the desire of a king.” Manon snorted a laugh, put on his shirt, and got back under the blanket, where he joined her.

Dorian pulled Manon into his arms and buried his face in her neck. Quietly, he said, “I think I’m falling - “

Before he could finish, Manon pushed away and sat up. “Don’t. Don’t say that.” She turned and started to stand.

“Wait Manon,” he said, reaching for her arm to keep her sitting.

She whirled on him, anger and confusion clouding her face. “Stop Dorian. I won’t say it back so it’s better for you to just stop.” She squeezed her eyes shut, as if trying to push something away from inside her, as she’d just pushed him away. He was hit by a dark sensation. A knowing. _She didn’t need this. Didn’t deserve it_.

He took her hand and said, “It’s ok Manon. I won’t pressure you.” Her face softened and she took several deep breaths. When she opened her eyes and looked at him, he felt another wave of emotion from her.

“I’m sorry Dorian.” He made a poor attempt at a smile. “I shouldn’t have reacted that way. But, I don’t want to say it if I don’t mean it. And I have no experience to know what it is. What it feels like.” He was keenly aware that she couldn’t even say the word.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat in silence. Dorian had known it was probably a bad idea as soon as the words started out of his mouth. But he’d thought maybe… They’d grown so close over the past few weeks. And then this connection. Magic. Whatever it was. It felt so powerful at times that he’d momentarily forget what it was like to be without it. She was staring at her hands, as if struggling with what to say. A look he’d become used to, so he waited, giving her some time to sort things out. Despite the rejection and embarrassment, he had to admit that he admired her honesty.

“Dorian.” He looked up and met her eyes. “Can you…” She stopped, looking apologetic.

“You can ask me anything Manon.”

Still hesitating, she quietly asked, “How did you know you were in love with Sorscha?” He flinched at her unexpected question and she squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry. I thought it might help me to understand.”

He shook his head. “No, don’t apologize. It just caught me off guard.” He ran his hand through his hair, trying to figure out how to best describe such a complex thing. As he sorted through memories of Sorscha, he realized it really wasn’t that complicated. “I didn’t know right away. Well, I knew she was beautiful and intelligent. But it still happened slowly. A lot of things that added up over time - her compassion, her strength. I loved making her laugh. And, whenever we weren’t together, I’d find myself thinking about her. I’d make excuses to see her.”

Smiling, Manon nodded and said “Sword training.”

“Yes. But it wasn’t that obvious.” Manon’s dubious expression made him snort a laugh. “Ok. It was obvious. But she didn’t mind. And I didn’t mind her knowing. She made me feel at ease. Comfortable. Not just with my magic. She let me be me. But also made me want to be better.” He wasn’t sure how well he’d answered her question.

_Did that help?_

_Yes. Thank you_.

The smile that spread across her face was one he hadn’t seen before. It was shy and sweet and lovely. He was immediately flooded with emotion. Love for Manon. But it only lasted a few seconds before he realized he’d just been speaking about Sorscha. _What the hell is wrong with me_ , he thought, disgusted with himself. Remembering Sorscha one moment and feeling so much for Manon in the next. Maybe it wasn’t love that he felt for Manon. Maybe it was only lust. Or worse, just some fated magic connecting them, leaving them with no choice in the matter. He dropped her hand, unsure of what to do, where to look. _She doesn’t deserve this from me. She deserves better_.

She must have sensed some of what he was thinking because she said, “Dorian, don’t punish yourself for your feelings, even the negative ones. I was raised to ignore them and now I don’t know if I’m capable of feeling much at all. If I could change anything about myself, it would be that.” Taking his hand back into hers, she continued, “You love Sorscha and always will. Nothing and no one will change that part of you. Including me.”

Dorian was struck by how easily she could reframe a problem and make him feel a little better. She claimed she was heartless but she understood emotions better than most people he knew. He lifted her chin and slid his hand to her cheek. “I meant what I said Manon. I won’t pressure you. Except to make you realize that you have a beautiful heart. You can feel any emotion you want. Including love. And you deserve it in return.” He kissed her forehead and said, “Now, let’s get some sleep.”

She looked a little doubtful. _Are you ok?_

He nodded and they lay back down. Although they were still next to each other, Dorian kept a small distance between them. He wouldn’t push her into something she wasn’t ready for. But a short time later, Manon reached for him and he moved closer and draped his arm around her waist.

The nightmare was a mixture of old memories – Sorscha laughing at him, bending over a book deep in concentration, her soft brown skin, the thud of her head hitting the floor. And new - new tortures he’d inflicted on the castle guards, their agonized screams as he’d remove their skin, the feel of their finger bones snapping, the contented sighs from the valg when it devoured their pain. Or… Had he been the one who sighed?

He sat up and gagged violently, nothing coming out. Manon was quickly beside him, holding onto his shoulders until he stopped heaving. “I’m sorry. It was selfish of me to ask about her.” Dorian didn’t reply. It wasn’t that he thought she should be blamed. He’d just never had a nightmare like that before. The interweaving of Sorscha, her goodness, with all the evil he’d done. All connected like a web. With the valg a gelatinous, black spider sitting in the center, patiently waiting for its prey. He heaved again at the thought, shivering and sweating at the same time, trying to force the images from his mind.

“I can see parts of it…” she muttered. “Your nightmare.” She took him in her arms and held him. “You didn’t do those things. It wasn’t you.”

He was still shaking when he said, “Maybe not all of them. But why do I remember…” Dorian wasn’t sure if he could say the words. “There were times when I…enjoyed it. Their pain. As if it gave me life. Sustained me. The way it did the valg.” She didn’t answer and he wondered how she could even stand being near him. He couldn’t even stand being himself.

“Do you think it was part of the mind control? The valg’s feelings converging with yours? Taking them over?”

He shook his head. “It felt like me this time. In the other memories I feel like I’m floating outside myself. This was different.” She released him and moved to face him. Her eyes were shining from the tears about to fall. And suddenly he realized what she’d said. _I can see parts of it_. “Oh gods – I didn’t mean to send that to you! For you to see it!”

She pulled his hands down before they could cover his face. “Stop. You have nothing to apologize for Dorian. I know you didn’t do it on purpose.” She began to rub his back. It was soothing and he began to calm down. “My past is full of violence that I carried out. All on my own. Some things I now regret. But some I don’t. I’m still in the process of figuring out where my line is. But you’ve already drawn yours. And as difficult as it may be, those memories are necessary to maintain that line. Look at me Dorian.” He wasn’t aware that he’d turned away from her. “I can’t know what it was like for you. But, maybe the reason you felt that way about their pain was because you had nothing else. You had no control over your actions or mind. Even your magic was probably taken and consumed by that demon. If you thought you’d been abandoned by the people around you, and you’d lost hope… Maybe it makes sense that you’d latch on to someone elses pain to distract from your own.” He stared at her, thinking through all that she’d said. It sounded plausible. But it also felt like an easy out. She seemed to sense his fragile acceptance and said, “This won’t be solved tonight. Do you think you can sleep?”

“I’ll try,” he answered. As they settled back down into their blankets, he whispered, “Thank you.”

Manon twisted to face him, a puzzled expression on her face. “For what? There’s nothing to thank me for. You help with my demons, I help with yours.”

“You didn’t run away screaming,” he said, more seriously than he’d intended.

She looked insulted. “I am an Ironteeth witch, Princeling.” Turning back around she mumbled, “I must be getting too soft if you’ve forgotten. I’ll have to think of some way to remedy that.”

Dorian gave her a squeeze. And was shocked by the laughter and squirming that followed.

“Rutting Hell! You’re ticklish?!”

“No! No, that’s not – “She broke off, unable to hold in her laughter as he wiggled his hands along her ribs. She was gasping for air. “Please – stop! I…can’t breathe!”

When she really couldn’t breathe, he gave in. “I’ll stop Witchling,” he said, letting her go. She immediately rolled outside his reach, trying to get air. “But don’t think I will _ever_ forget this,” he warned, grinning like a fool.

“Shit,” she muttered.

“Shit indeed. So much for the big bad Ironteeth witch.”

Her smile made something inside him shift. He realized that only a few short minutes ago he’d been overwhelmed by the despair of his nightmare. And now, he was laughing at the ticklish witch lying next to him. As Manon cautiously approached, he said, “Don’t worry Witchling. You’re safe for now.” She shot him a wary look then slid closer, falling back into what was becoming their normal sleeping positions - her back tucked against him, his arm wrapped around her.

Dorian was still awake after she’d fallen into a deep sleep. He remembered his earlier doubts about his feelings for Manon. _How do you know when you’re in love?_ Then he thought about her laugh. How she tried to be so tough but had once taken the time to search for a field of flowers so Abraxos could roll in them. How, at times, her eyes could see all the way through him and she wouldn’t look away. How beautiful her skin was, scars and all. And once again, she’d been able to pull him from his darkest depths. Without making him feel lesser for it. Without making him feel like he needed to hide anything from her.

This was love he decided. It seemed to have come out of nowhere. He was in love with Manon Blackbeak. He took a deep breath, savoring her scent of summer grass and warm earth. The feel of her in his arms. Her silken hair on his cheek. It would be hard, but he’d keep his promise not to pressure her. _It wouldn’t be fair to force her into something when it’s unlikely I will survive this war_ , he thought with an ache in his chest. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. So, carefully, without waking her, he got up and walked back to the main cavern.


	7. Knowing

When Sorrel left to find Ghislaine, Manon turned to Dorian. Eyebrow raised, she asked, “Satisfied Princeling?”

“I am.” The intensity of his answer and the way he was looking at her would have made her blush. If witches blushed. She was inordinately pleased that her face had not reddened. “But we both know it was your decision. You were only waiting for the right time.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes. We also both know you’d have kept harping on me about it until it happened.”

Dorian shrugged. “Details.”

His attempt to keep her distracted had almost worked. “You never got back to sleep?” She felt awful for asking him about Sorscha. Her curiosity had gotten the better of her and he’d paid the price. Asterin’s description of love had seemed incomplete to her. Not that she thought her Second was lying or hiding anything. She’d been honest, brutally so. Manon just needed more concrete details in order to understand it. Which was the problem - until she’d experienced love for herself, it would be difficult for her to fully comprehend. Asking Dorian had felt both risky and comforting at the same time. She was nervous about exposing herself with the request. And afraid it would open a wound in him that was still healing. But she trusted him to give an honest answer and not make her feel like a fool for asking.

Manon had occasional nightmares. Some about Rhiannon, some about other Crochans she’d killed, some about her grandmother. But her demons preferred to strike during her waking hours. Dorian’s nightmare this morning had been horrible. Manon had only seen flashes - flayed limbs, Sorcha’s headless body, men screaming in pain. It had been enough to bring tears to her eyes. Tears of sadness for Dorian, and tears of rage for his father. She’d somehow managed to keep it together. How he was able to function after something like that though… Not for the first time, she was awed by his strength and resilience.

She got up and crossed to where Dorian sat watching the sky as it lightened through the cave entrance. It was rapidly changing from a subtle, deep mauve to a bland, light gray. The sun pushed its way through breaks in the clouds along the horizon, but it was still snowing. “It’s morning anyway,” he said, turning to find her beside him. He took her hand and ran his fingers over the lines of her palm. “You’re not to blame for it Manon.”

“You wouldn’t tell me if I was, “she said.

“You greatly overestimate my ability to lie Witchling.” His smile, though beautiful, did nothing to dissuade her.

She shook her head. “My correct estimation is that you would do anything, including lie, to protect those you care about.”

He stared at her for a long moment before answering. “I’ll give you that. But you’re wrong about the nightmare. The memories would have forced their way out sooner or later. What’s important is that you were there to bring me out of it.”

She nodded, leaning in to kiss his cheek. The first time she’d ever done that. He must have realized it too judging from his smile. This one reached his eyes, brightening their color and leaving her unable to look away. A quiet cough made them spin around, finding Sorrel and Ghislaine waiting nearby.

Manon gestured for them to sit. And to stop looking at her like that. Both witches dropped their heads but apparently weren’t able to drop their smiles. _I’m letting them get too soft_. Even as she thought it, she couldn’t prevent her own smile. _And clearly they are just following my lead_ , she thought with a small huff.

“Where are the twins,” she asked, stretching to look between the wyverns who filled the rest of the cave.

“They’re packing up,” Sorrel replied. “Should I get them too?”

“No. You can fill them in on what they miss.” She sighed before continuing. “I’m not sure how to start so I’m just going to be blunt. I have some sort of magic, likely from my Crochan blood. It allows me to silently communicate. So far, only with Dorian. We think it’s because he possesses raw magic. And I may have had some sort of vision.“ Ghislaine looked stunned. And excited. No doubt anticipating all the questions that would need to be answered. Sorrel on the other hand. She just nodded with a slight quirk to her mouth. “Did you know? I tried sending thoughts to you but I didn’t think it had worked.”

Sorrel looked surprised. “No Manon. I only knew you were hiding something.” She looked at Dorian. “Both of you.” He looked apologetic. “I’m not upset.” She shrugged a shoulder. “Actually, I’m pleased to know I was right.”

Now it was Manon’s turn to be surprised. Her Third admitting to such vanity? Never mind that it was a small vanity. It was out of character for any member of the Thirteen, especially Sorrel. The Thirteen were the fiercest, most accomplished coven in the Ironteeth Clan. They all knew it. But speaking that kind of thing out loud had not been allowed. Manon knew her Third was as bright as Ghislaine, as tough as Asterin, the best fighter in the clan. So why should she be surprised that Sorrel would acknowledge one of her obvious strengths? _I shouldn’t be. That was the Matron’s idea of humility. Belittle and punish any bit of pride that dares show itself. Another way to maintain control_.

“You should be Sorrel. You notice more than any of us,” Manon said finally. The small witch’s eyes widened just a little. And then, ever her stone, Sorrel gave a curt nod of thanks, accompanied by a soft smile. “We only discovered it the other day. Hopefully the Crochans will offer some insight into what it is and how it works. Unless, you have some information now,” Manon said to Ghislaine.

The witch had been tapping her foot, deep in thought. “It must be a form of raw magic. And yes, from the Crochans. I’ve never heard of a magical ability that’s specific to reading minds. Outside of the Fae mating bond, that is.” Manon went still at this and sensed Dorian had as well. Before she could say anything, Ghislaine continued. “But that doesn’t apply to witches, even with our Fae blood. Or humans obviously,” she said, waving her hand to Dorian. “You didn’t have this ability before magic disappeared ten years ago? Did you feel anything when it came back?”

Manon shook her head. “Why would it suddenly appear out of nowhere?”

Ghislaine twirled a dark curl in her fingers as she considered this, her eyes unfocused as she stared at the floor. “Based on the timing, I would guess it has something to do with your grandmother.” A low snarl escaped Manon before she could stop it. “The Matron,” Ghislaine amended. She turned to Dorian, as if seeking confirmation. “It makes sense, right? If this is Crochan raw magic, it could have been suppressed by her control over Manon.”

Dorian was slowly nodding as he considered it. Manon thought it was likely but she wasn’t sure if she understood. “Are you saying she knew I had magic? Did something to keep me from using it?”

Ghislaine cocked her head. “It’s certainly possible she knew. But I wasn’t referring to a physical suppression. I meant something more…mental. Emotional.” She began to speak more quickly as she went on with her theory. “When you discovered your true bloodline, that could have popped the cork so to speak. You broke from the Matron in a physical sense - defied her, left the Blackbeaks. But it took longer to break from her emotionally. That just happened recently. Or, the magic could have been manifesting for awhile but it was too subtle for anyone to pick up on. Without another raw magic wielder it could have gone unnoticed. All the stress of the past weeks could have brought it out too. There’s a lot of possibilities.” She looked around at all of them, as if asking for potential flaws to her logic.

Dorian added, “When my magic first appeared it was triggered by stress, or strong emotions. Fear, anger. It didn’t happen all at once. And it took me a while to learn any control over it. Not that I have much control now. I need training.”

Ghislaine scoffed at his claim. “Yes, the magic you used during the battle with Maeve’s fleet was definitely lacking in control.” Sorrel snorted a laugh in agreement.

Manon went over all they’d said. As it began to make more and more sense, she felt a small weight lift. Despite her growing comfort with her magic, she had never really given up the possibility that there was something wrong with her.

 _Unfortunately for you Witchling, I’m not above saying I told you so_.

Manon turned to find Dorian smirking at her. _About what Princeling? There are so many things you’ve told me. Or are you referring to my witches fawning all over you?_

_I told you there was nothing wrong with you. As for your witches, I’m not to blame for their good taste._

A cough. They turned back to Sorrel and Ghislaine.

Manon looked both witches in the eye as she said, “I’m sorry for not telling you about this sooner. It was a mistake I won’t make again. It wasn’t from a lack of trust, I just…” She trailed off, uncertain of the right words. “You know I want us to be different. Better. But it will take some time for me to adjust.”

Before she could finish, Sorrel said, “You’re our leader Manon. And we know you trust us. Including us in every decision isn’t necessary. We’re not used to it and no one expects change to happen overnight. We are adjusting too.” Manon didn’t know what to say. Something in Sorrel had changed. “I would ask one thing,” she went on. Manon nodded, still speechless. “I know you want the Crochans as allies against the Matron and Erawan. I know the wyrdkey is important in sending him back where he came from. But there’s more you’re not telling us. If our world hangs in the balance, I don’t want to go into this blind, without knowing everything.” Sorrel’s expression hardened. “I will follow you no matter what Manon. But what we’re hoping to do… It’s too important. We can’t fail.”

The conviction in Sorrel’s voice made Manon’s heart beat faster and she felt a surge of emotion for her Third. She still couldn’t find the words with which to reply. Manon slowly lowered her head to Sorrel, a rare witch gesture of respect. Sorrel’s eyes became bright as a smile transformed her face.

Manon cleared her throat and checked the sky. “I’ll fill in the gaps of what happened between Morath and the Stone Marshes. And I will tell you all we know about the wyrdkeys. It’s still not clear enough to fly, so we have time. This is for Dorian’s benefit too.” He furrowed his brow, bemused. “I never finished telling you about the memories in the witch mirror.”

“Witch mirror?!” Ghislaine sat up straight, eyes wide with excitement.

 

* * *

 

 

Dorian laughed when Ghislaine was told she’d have to wait for that part of the story. Her pissy huff brought out Manon’s glare. “The tables are turned Ghislaine. I’ll try to be brief,” she said with a wicked grin.

He was looking forward to hearing her version of their time on the ship and in the marshes. But, Manon wasn’t very descriptive, lacking the flourish of a good storyteller. With the exception of their interactions in her cabin, she left nothing out. Even including the swamp monster that he’d stopped with his magic. Sorrel’s impressed look brought a slight blush to his cheeks and an eye roll from Manon. But she didn’t elaborate enough to give him any new insights into her or how she may feel about him.

One thing that did stand out was her injury and the details of the fight. That, combined with what he’d seen the day Abraxos brought her to him, made Dorian wonder how the hell she’d survived. Days with a gaping abdominal wound… He didn’t think he or Rowan could survive that, even with their magic.

Ghislaine peppered them with questions - about the wyrdkeys, the ilken, Aelin, Maeve - only to receive an irritated “I’ll get to that!” as a reply.

By the time she got to the witch mirror, the twins had joined them. Their matching feral grins made him uneasy. He glanced at Sorrel. She caught their eyes and shook her head, once. Their grins transformed into pouts. Gods. He’d figured they’d been messing with him from the start. All the creepy stares while filing their iron nails. Whispers whenever he passed them. He always knew he wasn’t in any real danger. But there was a small part of him that instinctively feared them. _Well played ladies_ , he thought, laughing to himself.

Manon was finishing the first memory she and Aelin had witnessed, so he turned his attention back to her. At the mention of Nehemia and her meeting with Elena in the marsh temple, Dorian’s stomach dropped. It dropped further at the looks of the other witches when they learned he was just as capable of sending Erawan back as Aelin. Manon put her hand on his knee but continued to address the others. “The Eyllwe Princess was instructed to go to Adarlan and act as a guide to both of Mala’s scions. If they weren’t ready to act, the Princess was told to provide the push needed. Whatever it took to get one of them to begin the journey of defeating Erawan.”

She’d sacrificed herself. Nehemia had come to Adarlan, her enemy’s court, knowing she would die. Dorian’s head dropped into his hands. “She knew,” he whispered, over and over. “If I’d accepted my magic sooner, she might still be alive,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

Manon said, “This isn’t your fault. Or Aelin’s. Elena put this on all three of you. All of us.”

Aelin. How had she taken it? He looked at Manon. “What did Aelin…”

“She was very upset. If we’d been fully corporeal, and if she’d had any magic left, I think she would have unleashed it. But the things we were being shown didn’t pause long enough for her to really absorb it.” She continued, describing a rush of scenes involving Elena, Gavin, and Brannon. Manon hesitated before telling them, “In addition to helping Mala with the original lock, Rhiannon created the witch mirror so we could see these memories. And she looks… I look like her.” They were stunned.

“What the hell does that mean?” Ghislaine whispered.

Manon turned to Dorian. “Care to share your theory?”

He was still trying to process what he’d just learned about Nehemia. Trying to make sense of it. Why had Nehemia been pulled into this? She had no blood connection to the original players. Had she been guided by one of those damned gods? What could he have done differently that would have kept her safe?

“Dorian?”

He lifted his head to find all the witches’ eyes on him. “I’m sorry. What?”

“You had some ideas about the deities” Manon said softly. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and told them about their friends and the gods and goddesses to whom they might be linked.

Ghislaine wasn’t terribly impressed with his idea. Especially after he admitted to the omission of Nehemia from his earlier list of connections. “Sometimes coincidence can be mistaken for something more,” she said. “But it is strange.” After a few minutes of thought, she muttered, “It could be…” When she didn’t continue Manon coughed. Ghislaine shook her head. “It’s probably too simple but maybe the gods are just really anxious to leave? They’ve attached themselves to all of you. Influencing things the only way they can. And after Dorian and Aelin were born… They knew this was their chance.” She sighed. “It’s too easy. That can’t be it.”

Dorian smiled. “Sometimes the simplest explanation is the best. And that’s all we have at the moment.”

“Yes,” Manon said. “And I think the Crochans will be able to help. Not just with my magic.” She turned to face Dorian. “In the mirror, we saw Rhiannon interact with Brannon in between his memories of hiding the wyrdkeys. She was clearly involved in creating this…curse, or whatever it is. Maybe some knowledge was passed down?”

“Anything is possible,” Dorian said, trying not to sound dismissive of the hope in her voice. As much as he wanted to find a way to avoid sacrificing himself, he didn’t really expect it to happen. It was too dangerous to rely on hope when so much was at stake. They had the vessel. Now they needed the third key and the spells to create the lock and banish Erawan for good. At that thought, he said, “Maybe they will help with the magic required for the lock.”

Manon only shrugged. Before he could say more, Sorrel asked, “Where were they hidden? The wyrdkeys.”

“He put one in Elena’s crown. It was left in her tomb. In the Rifthold castle,” Manon answered.

“That’s the one my father found when he was young, and gave to Perrington,” Dorian added. “They used it to unlock Erawan. Who took over Perrington’s body, and then put a valg prince into my father. My father managed to fool the valg and create a spell to suppress magic in an attempt to stall Erawan.” He looked up at the group of witches staring at him in disbelief. He hadn’t meant to say all of that. “Or so he claimed.”

Ghislaine asked, “Your father was responsible for that? How did he do it? Did it really do anything to Erawan?”

Dorian flinched at the barrage of questions. Manon gave Ghislaine a withering stare and told her it wasn’t relevant. She took his hand, running her thumb along the spot on his wrist where his pulse was thrumming. Before he could succumb to his anxiety, he felt his breathing slow, his heart calm.

 _Thank you_. He resisted the strong urge to say more, remembering his earlier promise.

 _You help me, I help you_ , she sent with a small smile.

To the others, she said, “Brannon forged the second into the Terrasen locket and placed the third under a stone in Mala’s original temple. We have two - the locket, and one that Kaltain gave us. I don’t know where that key came from.”

Ghislaine frowned. “Wait. What temple? Where?”

“It was on a bare rock island in the middle of a river of lava. After he hid it, he walked into the fire and died. We weren’t shown anything else to indicate where it was located.”

Dorian watched Ghislaine as she worked through possibilities. He wasn’t very familiar with the geography of the other continents. But he was certain there were no active volcanoes or lava flows in Erilea. Definitely not within the past few thousand years.

Ghislaine confirmed this. “I don’t know of any place on this continent where that could be. Though I’m no expert on geology. Mala and Brannon came here from Wendlyn?”

Dorian nodded. “That temple could be anywhere. I’m not sure it really matters though. Erawan had two keys. Kaltain gave one of them to Elide and Aelin had the locket”

Sorrel asked, “Was that all you saw Manon? Does anyone know what to do if we get all three keys?”

Manon was silent, staring into the middle distance. The other witches looked to him for explanation. Dorian shrugged then leaned in front of her to see if she was having a vision. “Manon? Are you here?”

Her eyes came quickly back into focus and she smiled. “No vision. It’s just me.”

He noticed the smile hadn’t quite reached her eyes, giving her a sad expression. But he decided not to question her about it now.

 _Just how I like you_ , he sent, giving her braid a gentle tug.

Her eyes narrowed into a halfhearted glare.

“Since the rest of us didn’t hear any of that, can you enlighten us,” Ghislaine huffed.

Manon released a heavy sigh. “I was just trying to remember if there was anything else from the mirror. There isn’t. To answer your question Sorrel, Aelin has experience with wyrdmarks so she likely knows the spells needed.”

Dorian cast her a skeptical look. Manon smirked. _It’s ok princeling. Memory is the first thing to go at my age_.

He laughed, shaking his head.

Sorrel stood and went to check on the wyverns, signaling an end to the discussion. Ghislaine threw her hands up and followed. The twins tried flashing him their deadly iron grin. Instead of flinching or turning away, as he’d done the previous times they’d tried to scare him, Dorian raised an eyebrow and asked, “How can I help you ladies?”

Their faces fell as they realized their game had ended. “Shit,” one muttered. The other shrugged a shoulder. “Oh well. It was fun while it lasted.”

As they got up to leave, Dorian smiled and waved. That provoked a real response as one of the twins snarled at him. He snarled back, making both witches laugh.

“Gods. Don’t tell me you’ve got the demon twins on your side now too,” Manon said dryly.

 _I’m irresistible Witchling_.

He loved watching her eyes roll as she tried not to smile. “Maybe you can irresistible your way to pack up our things while I ready Abraxos. The weather has cleared enough for us to fly.”

“As you command Witchling,” he said, kissing her cheek as he stood.

 

* * *

 

As soon as Dorian was out of site, Manon turned to face the outside air rushing into the cave. She’d fought to keep any emotions from escaping. Fought to make sure he wouldn’t sense her lie about knowing how to make the lock and seal the gate. Or sense that she had realized where the final key was located.

The moment she’d thought about where the wyrdkey was, something had clicked inside Manon. She _knew_ the third key was with the Crochans, not Erawan. How she knew… That was something she couldn’t explain. But it was the same way she’d known Dorian would have to face Erawan. The way she’d known she and Abraxos belonged to each other.

That was why she’d decided to lie about the rest of it. It only took a few seconds of looking into Dorian’s eyes to know she couldn’t bear to lose him. And her certainty about the wyrdkey meant they were that much closer to it happening.

Manon heard Dorian return with their packs and begin discussing the day’s travel with the others. Tears were slowly dripping from her face. She wiped them away and was struck by the memory of Asterin’s confession about her witchling and hunter.

_It was like dying a little every day. It was like being alive, too. It was joy so complete it was pain. It destroyed me and unmade me and forged me. I hated it, because I knew I couldn’t escape it, and knew it would change me forever._

As she remembered Asterin’s words, Manon realized the witch’s explanation of love had been perfect. Absolutely perfect. She knew it now. She was in love with Dorian.

The fate of the world depended on them. She wouldn’t ignore that. But how could she continue this journey? How could she take him to his death?

 _Hope_. Elide’s voice, when she was determined to find Aelin. _I would fight with tooth and claw to get to her_. She had certainly come to believe in hope, but it was still unfamiliar territory for her. And she believed this situation required more than just hope. She would need to fight too. And _that_ was something she was much better at.

Manon took a deep inhale, held it, then exhaled. She did it several more times until she was sure the tears wouldn’t return. Her mind a bit clearer, her heart a bit stronger. She decided two things.

First, she would tell Dorian and the others everything she’d left out. She had told her witches she wouldn’t keep things from them. Manon owed that to Dorian as well. Especially as she considered how things had gone so badly that day they’d emerged from the Stone Marshes. When what looked like an enemy force was actually an allied fleet Aelin hadn’t told anyone might be coming. Sorrel had been right, it didn’t help anyone to keep secrets.

Manon’s second decision felt a little bit fragile since she was less sure how to accomplish it. She would fight with everything in her to ensure Dorian survived. _Fuck Elena and the curse she forced on us. I am a Crochan Queen. Heir to the Blackbeak Clan. Leader of the Thirteen. I will do whatever it takes to save him._

Dorian’s hand pressed against her lower back. “Manon?”

Now. She should tell him now. But when she turned to face him it took all her strength to keep from crying. The courage she’d just summoned seemed to vanish.

_What’s wrong Manon? Can I help?_

She shook her head, forcing a smile that felt like a lie, making her feel worse.

_I just had a bad memory about my grandmother. I’m fine._

How easy it was. One lie. Followed by a few more to keep it going. _You are pathetic. You don’t deserve him. Anyone. He trusts you and you lie to his face._ She closed her eyes, willing the voice to stop. But it didn’t.

“Manon.” His hand gently brushed her cheek, his sapphire eyes burning into hers. The kiss was soft, his tongue just glancing over her lips. Too soon, he pulled away. She was left breathless. Partly from the kiss. But mostly from the feeling he’d sent while their lips had touched… It was almost too much. So many different emotions tangled together. Too many for her to identify. Except for what had been missing. No fear. No acknowledgment of what he was facing.

 _I’ll be ok Dorian. You’re here_.

He squeezed her hand as she turned around and gave Sorrel the sign to get them ready to fly.


	8. Remember

After several hard days of travel over the White Fangs, they were relieved to reach the better weather of the foothills. The time they’d gained early on had been quickly eaten up by the delay in the mountains. Manon had known the crossing would be risky. But no one had expected the back-to-back storms that grounded them - the second one keeping them confined to a cave for two full days. They’d been lucky to find it when they did. The violent winds had come on so fast, Fallon’s wyvern had been thrown against a sheer wall of rock, injuring her tail. While they were holed up in the cave, Dorian had used his magic to heal all the wyverns’ cuts and scrapes. But he wasn’t able to knit the tiny broken bones back together in Banshee’s tail. So, they’d resorted to using traditional methods, splinting it in several spots. When they were finally able to leave, Banshee’s balance was off, slowing their progress even more.

Thankfully, they were now on the western side of the range, enjoying the warmer temperatures of the lower altitudes. When they reached the edge of the plains that would eventually become the Western Wastes, Manon decided to take a day off from flying. They were still in Adarlan, but their need for rest outweighed the danger of their location. The mountains offered good protection from Morath, and they were far enough from the Ferian Gap that it wasn’t of much concern.

Sorrel had flown ahead to scout out a suitable campsite. When she returned and announced she’d found one near a large spring, Ghislaine had cheered. “Thank the Goddess! I was about to kill someone for a bath.” The twins whooped in agreement as Sorrel and Dorian laughed.

The instant the wyverns were settled and fed, the three witches ran to the pool, shedding clothes along the way. Dorian cleared his throat and awkwardly turned away until they were out of site. Sorrel snorted a laugh and glanced at Manon, who nodded for her Third to go ahead.

“Perhaps we can visit it later this evening,” Dorian said, walking up behind her and sliding his arm around her waist. “I just might be able to magically warm up the water,” he whispered as he wiggled his fingers, causing her to jerk away. He didn’t let her get far. “Oh. Are you ticklish Witchling?”

“Don’t. You. Dare,” she growled. He only laughed and pulled her closer. She twisted around, planning to say something cheeky. But she was stopped by his soft, full lips and his hand running through the hair that had blown free of her braid. Everything left her mind except for the feel of his strong arm around her, the cool taste of his mouth, his fire and ice touch on her skin. She slipped her tongue between his lips and ran her fingertips lightly over his collarbone. Dorian shuddered, bringing a smile to her face. The intensity of his kiss grew as she hitched her leg around his and spread her hands out under his shirt.

A loud huff from close by made them pause. “Ignore him”, she mumbled against his mouth.

But Dorian broke away from her. “He’s a little difficult to ignore.”

She turned to see Abraxos flashing his sharp, iron teeth and swishing his tail back and forth in a menacing display.

“I’ve had enough of this territorial bullshit,” she snarled at him. He replied with a long whine, curling his neck to look behind him. Thinking he was warning them of some unseen danger, she and Dorian pulled out their swords and crept past him only to find a field of wildflowers swaying with the warm breeze. Abraxos pulled on the lead securing him to a tree and whined again.

Manon sighed heavily and dropped her head into her hand, Dorian laughing beside her. Their reactions elicited another impatient huff. She undid the lead and he took off for the field. She raised her eyebrows in question to Dorian and he bowed slightly, gesturing for her to lead the way.

 

* * *

 

 

After they found a spot to sit and watch Abraxos play in the tall grasses, Dorian asked, “Do you miss Asterin?” He’d been wondering how the others were faring in their journeys. Chaol and Nesryn in the Southern Continent, Aedion and Lysandra in Terrasen, Rowan, Elide, and the Fae in their search for Aelin. Manon had hoped to meet up with Asterin and Briar a couple of weeks after they’d all separated in Eyllwe. But their destination had changed and the two witches had told her they would stay with Rowan if he needed their help. It was looking like it would be some time before they’d be reunited. He knew she missed her Second, but he’d asked the question anyway in the hopes of getting her talking. She’d been quiet the past few days and hadn’t been sleeping well, blaming it on the stress of the crossing.

“Very much,” Manon said smiling. “She’s my closest family.” She leaned her head back, basking in the warm sun. “Before we were called back to train with the wyverns, it was common for our coven to be apart for months. Each of us were given territories to hunt Crochans.” She frowned at that, but went on. “All that time spent together at the Ferian Gap… I got used to being with her, all of them. More than I’d realized.”

“And how, exactly, did you get paired with such a fearsome beast?” Abraxos had just nosed a group of butterflies from some bright purple flowers, his eyes following them as they circled to land again. Manon’s love for the little wyvern was clear on her face.

“I had actually selected a different wyvern. Titus, the largest, fiercest bull. Iskra, the Yellowlegs heir, wanted him too. So on the day we were to chose, she decided to push me into the fighting pit.” She gave him a pointed look. “A desperate attempt to make herself feel important.”

Dorian laughed and asked, “Should we introduce her to Aedion? It sounds like they might get along.”

Manon was quiet, pretending to seriously consider it. “I wouldn’t wish that bitch on anyone,” she finally replied, then added dryly, “Even him.” The butterflies were now landing on Abraxos, who sighed contentedly. “I survived the fall only to come face to face with Titus. Luckily for me, the little bait wyvern chained to the wall offered to save the damsel in distress.”

At the mention of Abraxos being used as bait for larger wyverns, Dorian’s magic flared to life. There had been dog fighting dens in Rifthold. Appalled by the horrific abuse and awful conditions in which the dogs had been forced to live, he’d done his best to shut them down and punish the ringleaders. After a time, they’d always pop up again, a never-ending battle. But he’d continued searching them out and closing them. Under his father, Dorian was kept powerless about so many things important to the kingdom, prevented from affecting any meaningful change. The dog fighting was a wrong he could change. Something his father cared nothing about, thus giving Dorian free reign to get rid of it.

Manon watched the frost spread up the delicate flowers and grasses around them. As it melted, she said, “I’m ashamed to say I didn’t do anything to stop the treatment. Even though I found it sickening. That is a line I promise not to ignore again.”

He sent her an image of the swamp monster she’d told him not to kill and she laughed, “We fearsome beasts have to stick together.”

“I wonder if that thing was ticklish?” he asked.

“Gods,” she said, rolling her eyes. “ _Anyway_ … I was able to free him from the chain. He had several bad injuries, but he was a fierce little survivor. A true warrior.” Manon gave the wyvern a sweet smile. He was laying on his side, watching them. “Titus was twice his size but Abraxos wouldn’t give up. He was smarter and more agile, even with the injuries. His tail was his best weapon and he used it.” The wyvern thumped his tail twice in reply. “Titus managed to get him down though. So I may have provided a small distraction with Wind Cleaver.” She tapped the vicious blade next to her.

Dorian made a small flourish with his hand, “As one does.” She tried, but couldn’t keep from smiling.

“Abraxos wasted no time and tore his throat out,” she continued proudly. “I think they had a history and Abraxos was eager to settle the score. Iskra didn’t get the bull she wanted, but she did get a beating from Asterin for trying to kill me.” Manon’s eyes shined in delight at the memory. “The keepers thought I was crazy. And my… The matron ordered me to put him down. But I ignored them. In that pit, I felt a connection with him.” As she said this, the wyvern turned and gave her an affectionate huff. “He chose me. Claimed me. And I did the same with him.”

As Manon went on, telling him about their struggles with flying, Dorian’s attention turned to Abraxos. The animal clearly understood what was happening. Not just that they’d been talking about him. He’d understood what they’d been saying. Dorian believed her about the connection she had with him. Abraxos often seemed to sense Manon’s feelings and intentions without her speaking. And he didn’t think it was a one-way connection.

“Wait,” he interrupted. “Do you think you can share thoughts with him like you do with me?”

Manon stilled. “The Blueblood heir insisted her wyvern Keelie had been able to communicate with her. She said the wyvern _talked_ to her. I wrote it off as typical Blueblood flightiness.”

They both looked to Abraxos, who was staring at them. “Try it, see what happens,” he prompted.

Manon scrunched her face in concentration. Dorian had to force himself not to kiss the tip of her nose. _Probably not a good idea with Wind Cleaver so close_ , he thought, amused. Pulling him from this thoughts, the little wyvern folded up his wings and rolled all the way over, like one of his hounds might have done for a treat. “Did you tell him to do that?” he asked excitedly.

“Yes,” she laughed! Abraxos huffed and returned to his butterflies.

“I don’t think he’s going to let us experiment too much,” Dorian said, a little disappointed, thinking of some of the things his dogs had been trained to do. He understood though. Dogs were intelligent animals, deserving of respect. But wyverns were on a completely different level. Abraxos even more so.

“I don’t think we need to,” she said. “Now that I know what to look for, there have been a lot of signs. And it seems like this isn’t something restricted to he and I. If Petrah Blueblood is to be believed. We’ll have to ask the others when they get back from bathing.”

Dorian leaned back on his elbows and caught the glint of the wyvern’s shiny underwings. “I didn’t hear everything you said about his flying. How did you acquire so much spider silk? You didn’t sell your soul to the Stygian spiders did you Witchling?”

She shrugged and said, “I asked.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “You asked.”

A wicked grin spread across her face. “I asked nicely.”

He sat up in disbelief. “Is this why you insist we fly all the way around the western spur of the Ruhnn Mountains instead of over it? I thought you were worried about more bad weather.” He wasn’t pissed, but he wasn’t thrilled by her nonchalance at crossing a Stygian spider.

She shrugged again. “Details.”

Before he could press her for those details, she asked, “And what about you Princeling? Do you miss your Captain Westfall?”

The question was so completely unexpected, Dorian forgot what he was going to say, his mouth left hanging open. She was trying to distract him. But it made him realize that he hadn’t talked about Chaol in a very long time. He’d been afraid that to do so would somehow jinx his recovery. With that realization came more - he wanted to talk about Chaol. Wanted to tell _her_ about him. Especially after she had referred to Chaol as _his_. He closed his gaping mouth and decided to let himself be distracted.

“ _My_ captain is now the King’s Hand. And yes, I miss him. More than I can put into words.”

“Why was he not with you on the ship?” She kept her expression neutral, but her voice betrayed her concern.

“He wasn’t in Rifthold with me when the witches attacked.”

Shame passed quickly over Manon’s face.

_You didn’t attack. You saved my life._

Her answering smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. But she asked, “So where is he now?”

Dorian let it go. He’d said it without thinking, but wasn’t going to make her feel worse by dwelling on it. It had been so long since he’d seen her as the enemy. Not that I ever really did, he thought.

“Why isn’t he with your friends?” she asked again.

“I sent him to the Southern Continent to recover from an injury,” he said. After a pause, he added, “And negotiate for assistance in the war. That was actually an order from Aelin.”

Manon frowned. “You allowed that? He is your Second.”

As he ran his hands through the flowers, picking the heads off and tossing them at Abraxos, Dorian wondered why he’d even said that. The wyvern caught the flowers and immediately spit them out, excited for the new game. “You’ve met Aelin right?” She rolled her eyes in agreement. “I didn’t disagree. It made sense and it is vital to our cause. And Chaol would have done it anyway. But, I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t bothered me. I didn’t want to add any extra pressure to his recovery.” He knew it was selfish. Especially when they needed every ally they could find. But Chaol’s injury had been a cost of saving him from his father. And he’d never not feel responsible for it.

 

* * *

 

 

Manon watched him as she considered what he’d just said. He hadn’t been angry about Aelin overstepping her place and giving commands to his court. He’d been worried about Chaol. That was about as far from selfish as one could get. “Caring about your friend is not selfish Dorian. A thousand other people in that situation would have been more upset by Aelin’s meddling, and less concerned about Chaol’s well-being,” she said. “Myself included.”

He looked at her skeptically. “Maybe. But substitute Chaol for Asterin and I think your reaction would be different.”

She bowed her head in agreement. “Yes. But I still would have been pissed at Aelin.”

Laughing, he said, “Well, she and Chaol have a…history. And I have a longstanding policy of not getting caught in the middle.”

Manon’s jaw dropped. “Westfall and Aelin?” She wasn’t sure why it stunned her. She supposed it was because she’d gotten so used to seeing Aelin with her Fae mate.

“It’s a long story, but she wasn’t really the same person when they’d been together.”

The queen with another male just didn’t fit with Manon’s image of her. Which was foolish. Aelin was young, smart, beautiful. Of course she’d had men before Rowan. Manon eyed Dorian, suspicion growing suddenly in her mind. He was throwing flowers to Abraxos again.

“If that’s jealousy I’m sensing,” he crooned, still watching the wyvern. “I’m flattered but you have nothing to worry about.” He turned to face her. “I had feelings for her but she didn’t feel the same way. We are friends. Close friends, but nothing more. She chose Chaol then and I respected that.” Hesitating, he added, “I think that helped me grow up. Before I met Sorscha.”

Manon’s feelings - _Not jealousy_ , she thought forcefully - eased and were replaced by curiosity. “You stayed friends with both of them? How?”

Dorian shrugged, as if there had never been a choice. “I’ll admit I was hurt. And it was awkward at times. But I wanted them to be happy. If that happiness was as a couple, I wouldn’t stand in the way. It didn’t last long anyway. She held him partially responsible for Nehemiah’s death. He was captain of the guard and hadn’t told her about a threat made against Nehemiah,” he said sadly.

“And now she knows the Princess arranged it all herself. At Elena’s insistence,” Manon said.

“She and Chaol had already made peace before she learned that,” he said. “After my father died.”

“And that’s how Chaol was injured? Your father?”

He nodded and looked out over the field. She wasn’t going to question him any further, but he said, “He can’t walk. Rowan healed as much of his spine as he could. But he needed more specialized care. So I sent him and Nesryn to the Torre Cesme.”

“Nesryn?”

Dorian smiled, “Chaol’s current lady friend. I think… I hope.”

“The tall, dark one with the bow?” He nodded, a little surprised. “I saw her that day in Oakwald,” Manon answered.

She stared off into the distance trying to figure all this out. She kept getting hung up on Dorian’s connection with Chaol. “I don’t understand something. You and Chaol were interested in the same woman but you stayed friends? I may not know a lot about human emotions, but I’ve never heard of human males acting that way. Especially when a female is involved.”

He smiled softly. “Even during the few times I was angry with him, or worried I might lose him, there was never a moment I didn’t want him as my friend. He’s a brother to me. More so if that’s possible. I’ve known him almost my entire life and he’s been the one constant throughout everything.” Dorian shrugged again. “I love him.”

Manon nodded slowly. She still wasn’t sure if she understood completely. But then she thought of Abraxos, and the day Iskra had whipped him. She would have killed that bitch to protect him if Sorrel hadn’t pulled her away. And Asterin, the way she had screamed Manon’s name at the temple in Oakwald. If their places had been switched, and she’d been forced to watch Asterin about to die, she would have been in agony too. The memory sparked another to life in her head. “Did you know he saved my life in Oakwald?”

Dorian sat up. “Chaol? No! What happened?”

She laughed at the eager expression on his face. “Settle down Princeling. I’ll tell you the story of your brave Captain Westfall.”

 

* * *

 

 

Dorian had to force extra details from her, but in the end, he was left with an odd sense of relief. Knowing Chaol had not let Manon fall made him feel almost giddy. And not just for the obvious reason that he was glad the witch he now loved hadn’t died. Chaol had a history of distrusting non-humans. And a strong hatred of things that he thought endangered Dorian’s life. This combination meant he probably would not get along with Manon. Dorian hadn’t yet let himself dwell on that though, what with the uncertainty of the war. But this made him feel almost hopeful.

“So you and Aelin destroyed the Temple of Temis? Remind me to never piss either one of you off.”

Manon smirked. “I think you’d survive.” She wiggled her hands at him and he laughed.

“Yes, well I am more familiar with your weaknesses Witchling.” Using his magic, Dorian poked her gently in her ribs, making her roll away, laughing herself breathless. She rolled into Abraxos, interrupting his investigation of a small pink bloom. He let out an irritated growl and gave Dorian a dirty look. “Oh come on,” Dorian sighed, pulling his invisible hands off Manon. “You enjoy seeing her like this too.” The wyvern tilted his head and huffed.

Lying face down and still panting, Manon said, “He is part…of the Thirteen. One you…can’t so easily charm.” Abraxos grinned, putting his metal teeth on full view.

She sat up and patted the little wyvern on his side. “We are Ironteeth, remember?” She purred, clicking her jaw to allow her deathly sharp teeth to pop out, her grin mimicking his.

Dorian flinched away in a mocking fashion, then sat back up, leaning close to get a better look. His eyes roamed over her face, taking in every detail before settling on her mouth. He raised his finger to her lips but stopped just short of touching her. Smirking, he said, “I’d forgotten about these Witchling. I’ve been too distracted by your nails.”

Staring into his eyes, she snapped her teeth at his finger.

He didn’t flinch. “I’m not afraid of you, remember?”

Another quick jaw movement and the iron teeth disappeared. Distant voices came from the end of the field and he turned to see the four witches returning to camp. Abraxos was content where he lay, so Dorian stood and offered a hand to Manon. She was giving him an odd look, as if trying to decide something. Whatever it was, she didn’t share it, instead taking his hand. He pulled her up and they headed back to the others.

Dorian looked over his shoulder at the sun meeting the horizon and asked, “Dinner first?“ Then nodding in the direction of the spring, “Or dessert?”

Manon stopped walking and cringed. "Please tell me you’ve never been successful with that line.”

Smiling broadly he said, “So little faith Witchling.” Then he pointed to himself and winked at her. “Pretty face, remember?”

She tapped his head. “More than a pretty face Dorian. Remember?”

He brushed some of her loose hair behind her ear, trailing his hand down her braid. “As are you Manon.” He looked at her for a long moment. She was undoubtedly beautiful. And smart. And brave. He was ashamed to realize that it was her kindness that often sneaked up on him. He knew she was more than capable of being kind. But sometimes it was easy to fall into the trap of only seeing the fierce shell she’d constructed around herself. The tough persona that was based in truth, but served as a disguise to hide all that was underneath. A mechanism she’d needed to survive her grandmother.

“Dorian?”

He blinked, suddenly aware he’d been staring into her eyes. In that instant, he had an idea. “Dinner first.”


	9. Dessert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An interlude of fluff and smut :)

Half grinning, Dorian caught Manon’s eye and gestured behind him.

_Dessert?_

He’d disappeared as soon as the others had returned from bathing, leaving the witches to their dinner of stale bread and freshly roasted venison, leftovers from the wyverns’ earlier hunt. Sorrel was the only one to give Manon a questioning look, which she’d answered with a shrug. She’d known he was up to something, she just had no idea what it was. Now, they were sitting around a small fire, Sorrel sharpening her knives while they all listened to Ghislaine discuss wyvern anatomy. Banshee was improving, but her flying still wasn’t back to normal and Fallon was worried.

Manon cocked an eyebrow. _Really. I’m not some empty-headed courtier who needs to be wooed by the handsome prince._

At her use of the word handsome, the half grin turn into a full one - _those damned dimples_. She glanced away from his mouth and, as usual, landed on his eyes. They were dark, sparkling a bit from the reflection of the fire. With a sharp intake of breath, Manon closed her eyes as sudden waves of desire pulsed into her. _Gods, is this coming from him_ , she wondered? They’d sent each other feelings before, some of them very strong. But this was different. It had a physicality to it that made her grasp the blanket beneath her, arch her back, and move her hips ever so slightly. When it subsided, she let out her breath and opened her eyes.

Dorian was still smiling his arrogant grin. But his eyes looked as though they were on fire instead of merely reflecting it. She was fairly sure that the presence of the other witches was the only thing preventing him from taking her then and there. She pulled her braid in front of her and twisted it around her fingers. His smile disappeared. She sensed his pulse take off.

 _Dessert_ , she agreed.

He stood quickly and took her hand, silently leading them out of camp with a small ball of fire from his magic to light their way. The others continued with their conversation. Sorrel gave a single nod, acknowledging Manon’s departure. But otherwise, they acted oblivious.

The pool was further than Manon had realized. She let Dorian keep hold of her hand as they walked. It wasn’t a thing she’d normally go along with. Although she’d opened herself up in the past months, she wasn’t entirely at ease with these types of human affection. These gestures that, unlike a comforting hug or reassuring touch, seemed utterly without purpose.

But tonight, when he’d taken her hand, she’d felt a jolt at his touch. Maybe it had been his magic, maybe not. Either way, it had left her curious enough to override that part of her head telling her it was silly and weak. His strong hand surrounded hers and she found the feel strangely appealing. A reminder that he would be there if or when she needed him.

She’d been so deep in thought that she almost ran into him when he stopped at at the edge of a grove of trees. 

“Close your eyes,” Dorian said.

She cast him a skeptical look.

 _Trust me Manon. It’s a surprise_.

She looked down and watched Dorian’s thumb as he slowly ran it back and forth over her fingers. _Trying to distract me_ , she thought, amused. But then Manon’s gaze returned to his face. The smug grin he’d worn not long ago was gone. In its place was a smile that was fragile and beautiful and shy and full of hope.

The surge of love she felt for him quickly vanished as she realized what was happening. Dorian obviously had something planned. Some kind of human courtship thing that she’d unwittingly mocked not half an hour ago. _Oh Gods_ , she thought, struggling to maintain a neutral expression. _I am an ass_.

She had no idea how to react. A week ago she could have made a dismissive, smart-ass remark that would’ve been met with laughter. Or more flirting. But after that night in the cave… Things were different between them. The playful banter was still there. But there was a new sense of gravity to their interactions. Neither one had said it aloud, but they both knew what this had turned into. That admission, if only to herself, helped tamp down her uncertainty of what to do. She loved him. And while she would never betray herself just to please him, Manon realized that love meant they both might have to step outside their comfort zones on occasion. So, if Dorian wanted to woo her tonight, she would let him. After all, she was definitely interested in dessert.

 

* * *

 

Dorian watched her patiently, still stroking her hand. He wished he knew what she was thinking. But for once, her face was completely unreadable. _She’s probably afraid I’ll propose marriage_ , he thought dryly. That made him think of his mother and all her years spent trying to find him a proper queen. He just barely contained a laugh thinking of how she’d react to seeing Manon walk down the aisle. Another almost-laugh at the idea of this deathly warrior witch wearing a wedding dress. Not that she wouldn’t look stunning. But Dorian was pretty sure she wouldn’t be comfortable in that attire, let alone that situation.

He was a bit surprised to realize the idea didn’t bother him. He was in love with her and wanted to be with her. _War be damned,_ he thought _. Or, at least ignored while I daydream_. But Dorian liked the thought of them setting out on their own path. Married, not married. Ruling one country, or two, or none. As long as they were together, he didn’t care. _Traditions be damned too_ , he mused.

As he imagined the amazing chaos of introducing the Thirteen to his mother, she returned from her thoughts and drew him back from his, laughing at his expression.

 _I’m afraid to ask what that look is for_.

 _You’re not afraid of anything_.

 _You’re right_ , she sent with a cocky tilt to her head.

“So go ahead handsome Princeling. Surprise me.”

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed each finger. “Gladly.”

 

* * *

 

Manon closed her eyes and Dorian led her into the trees. Without vision her hearing and sense of smell intensified, her witch nature making the change even more pronounced. She heard the faint bubbling of the underground spring, flowing into a stream that made its way to the plain. Small animals moving through the undergrowth. Dorian’s pulse speeding up - that made her smile. And then, something unexpected was mixed with the normal forest smells. Flowers. From the field they’d sat in earlier that day. She couldn’t distinguish the individual flowers, but the overall effect was calming. And Dorian’s scent, overpowering everything, reminding her of a cold, crisp, morning.

“Ok,” he said quietly, moving her to stand in front of him. “You can open them.”

Manon slowly opened her eyes and looked up.

They stood inside a little clearing, surrounded by ancient cottonwoods and willows, interspersed with dogwoods, some with blossoms still clinging to them. Scattered throughout the branches were thousands of tiny flames. His magic. Somehow contained to keep the leaves safe. They almost looked like fireflies, but without the flitting here-and-there movement of insects. A light wind passing through the trees created the impression of twinkling stars, the rustling leaves changing the tint of the golden flames from orange to yellow to green to red and back again.

Manon couldn’t speak. Still holding his hand, she turned around in a circle, watching the orbs of light wink in and out with the breeze. She’d never seen, _never heard_ , of magic like this! She finally broke her eyes away from the trees to find Dorian, his full attention on her.

“There’s more,” he said, walking over a small embankment to the pool of spring water.

The entire bank was lined with larger versions of the flame. A brilliant array of petals, leaves, and flower heads floated on the water surface. They were illuminated from below by more of the lights. Manon bent and retrieved several flowers, trailing her fingers through the cool water.

“I’ll warm it up again soon,” Dorian said. She stood and faced him, still speechless. “I wasn’t able to get the heat of the flame to pass through the shield to keep the water warm,” he explained, sounding a little nervous. He nodded to the larger lights on the ground. “But I thought they were too beautiful to extinguish. And then, I made more,” he said, shrugging and looking up into the trees.

He was brushing this off as ordinary magic. As some mundane gesture any man would do for a woman. She lay her hand on his cheek, making him turn back to look at her. “This is amazing,” she said, trying hard to keep her voice from breaking.

Dorian smiled and took the flowers from her hand. “This,” he gently placed a large reddish orange bloom into her hair at the top of her braid, “is a poppy.” He positioned several little white flowers around it. “These are chamomile. I think. And the purple ones are lavender,” he finished, twisting the long stems around the red tie at the bottom of her braid.

For just an instant, Manon thought she must look ridiculous. But one glance at the golden lights in the trees, one look at his face… She didn’t care. Dorian may shrug it all off, acting as if it was just an average move in the courtship game . And perhaps it was, if only in the sense that he usually thought of others before himself. But he knew she’d never been a player in that game and had never planned to be. And he’d done it anyway. Which meant it was not just a game. Not to him. And so, not to her either.

“You walk a dangerous line Princeling.”

His smile faltered. “How so?”

“I may be an Ironteeth witch,” she said, pulling her braid around to inhale the scent of lavender. “But it’s… _possible_ …I could get used to this treatment. Expect it even.”

He threw his head back and laughed.

“I’m serious. You’ve set the bar awfully high,” she said, fighting to keep a smile off her face.

“This? This is nothing,” he scoffed. “Besides,” he said, putting a small flower behind her ear and slowly running his fingers down her cheek, her neck, along her collarbone. His touch was like fire on her skin. “We aren’t to the best part yet.”

Manon dropped her braid and put her hands around his neck, spreading her fingers into his hair. He smiled and bit his bottom lip. “You are evil,” she whispered, right before kissing him.

 

* * *

 

The kiss was all tongues and swollen lips and open mouths gasping for breath. Their limbs becoming tangled, hands everywhere at once; Manon clutching his face then her nails down his chest then in his hair again, Dorian drawing her tight against him pulling a leg up around him rubbing a thumb over her mouth. _  
_

“No games this time,” he gasped into her neck. They were working each other into too much of a frenzy to bother with that. But it didn’t mean he couldn’t slow things down.

In a few swift movements, Manon was on her back, shirt open, pants off, Dorian kneeling between her legs. He bent to kiss her neck and began a slow descent of her body with his mouth. Arching her back, Manon twisted her fingers through his dark hair, moaning his name when he flicked her nipple with his tongue. He took his time, teasing her with his teeth and tongue and lips while he slowly slid his hand up and down her inner thigh. He got close enough to feel how wet she was, but stopped short of sliding his fingers inside her. She pushed her hips to his hand, trying to make him touch her.

He moved back and spread her legs, his mouth and hand switching places. Only able to manage a few kisses along her thigh before giving in to her pleas, Dorian lifted her hips and licked her from bottom to top. Manon’s whole body shuddered as he slowly rubbed her with his tongue, gently nibbled with his teeth. Gods, he loved the taste of her.

She was writhing beneath him, making breathy noises in between murmurs of _yes_ and _there_ and _more_ that were going to drive him crazy. But he ignored his growing need to be inside her and focused on giving her the _yes_ , the _there_ , the _more_. Her body stilled for a split-second and then she was clutching his hair, her back bent off the ground, crying out in pleasure.

Manon didn’t wait long before pulling him over her and getting his pants down. “Was that not satisfactory Witchling?” he teased.

“Mmmm, very much Princeling. But it was lacking a certain…presence.” She reached between them and took him in her hand.

“Gods… Manon,” Dorian groaned, almost falling on top of her in surprise. He propped himself up and she pulled him closer, guiding him into her. That first slow push was enough to steal his breath away. His name on her lips enough to bring it back. He brought her leg up over his shoulder and began to move in her. Manon gasped at the depth he reached, but soon began to roll her hips, meeting his thrusts. She was so tight around him that he knew he wouldn’t last long.

Manon grabbed hold of his forearm, clutching it with both hands. Her moans told him she was getting close again and he pushed deeper inside her. When she came, the force of it caused her iron nails to shoot out, grazing his skin. He barely felt it. But Gods, the sight of them… The sight of her losing control… His orgasm broke suddenly through him, leaving him panting her name as he collapsed around her.

 

* * *

 

Later, as they relaxed in the water, now warm from a burst of Dorian’s magic, Manon gazed above her. The sliver of moon made for an exceptionally dark sky. Which in turn made it seem as though the stars were hanging just beyond the tops of the trees. As if they could simply reach up and touch them.

Dorian sighed. “I can’t take any credit for that,” he said dejectedly.

Manon laughed. “Yes. Well…” The pool was deep enough that she was treading water in the center. She ducked under the surface and popped up in front of where he floated a few feet away, squirting water in his face. “We all have our failings Princeling.”

“This was supposed to help you sleep,” he said, tossing a handful of petals at her. “It seems to have done the opposite.”

She swam around him, just outside of his reach. “What do you mean? The flowers?”

“Yes,” he laughed. “They’re supposed to be medicinal and have a calming effect.” He grabbed for her leg but missed, catching her foot instead. He pulled her over through the water. “You haven’t been sleeping well and I thought this might help.”

Manon wrapped her arms around his neck, relying on him to keep them afloat. Thinking about what he’d just said, she realized he’d probably learned that from Sorscha. She wondered if some females would have been upset by that. But she found an odd sense of comfort in it. He’d done all this for her, but without forgetting the one he’d lost. Maybe it was strange, but she saw it as a way of honoring Sorscha’s memory. The healer had changed Dorian’s life, in both good ways, and, through no fault of her own, bad. Manon was glad that he could remember the good.  “I imagine this entire night might help,” she said, kissing his forehead.

Dorian smirked, “So, what did you think of that thing I did back at camp?”

“You do so many _things_ Princeling. Can you be more specific?”

She was hit by a pulse of intense feeling, accompanied by a warmth that spread from between her legs and across her body. She gasped as it continued, wave after wave, her arms gripping him tighter. When the sensations ended and she was breathing heavily into his ear she asked, “By the Gods how did you do that?!”

He laughed, low and raspy. “I have no idea. But I am definitely going to practice.”


	10. Worth

A week had passed since the White Fang crossing and Manon was growing increasingly worried with each day. They’d only just managed to get within a day’s flight of the meeting place where they would reunite with Vesta and the rest of the Thirteen. Vesta had been ordered to gather information at Morath and then make her way north through the Oakwald Forest into Terrasen, crossing into the Frozen Wastes where the Anascauls met the Ruhnns. Traveling with Dorian and two wyrdkeys had meant Manon’s party had to avoid Morath and the Ferian Gap at all costs. The mountainous barrier had proven effective. But Vesta’s group could only rely on their skills as fliers and fighters and spies to evade detection along their route. Formidable though they were, it had been a risky plan.

Part of Manon’s unease stemmed from their side of the journey. Aside from the weather in the mountains, things had been going much too smoothly. After they’d split, there had been no signs of Ironteeth or valg patrols. She knew Sorrel had noticed and was worried too. But with nothing to be done about it, they’d simply continued on, staying vigilant and trying to go undetected.

Manon didn’t have a village name or even a detailed map to go by in their search. She only knew the Crochans had to be somewhere in the Frozen Wastes of Terrasen. After the Witch Wars, the Ironteeth had sent scouting parties into the Wastes on a regular basis, checking for any change in the curse the Crochan Queen had cast upon them and the land. Few scouts had ever returned. Manon’s epiphany from her sister’s words had come after she’d remembered something from her schooling - every patrol sent into the northern reaches of the Wastes had been lost, their deaths written off as a consequence of the freezing weather. Humans weren’t able to thrive there year round, but witches were made of hardier stock.

And while Manon had been confident of the general location, she’d only narrowed it down and become certain that first night they’d spent in the cave in the White Fangs. Ghislaine had asked about Mala’s Temple when Manon was telling them about the visions in the witch mirror. Manon had realized the only region of the continent with volcanic activity was the Anascaul range. Which bordered the Terrasen Wastes. Which would make an excellent spot for a long forgotten temple. A temple that was hiding a wyrdkey. A temple that might be guarded by Crochan witches, who would kill anyone who came sneaking around. Unless that someone was Brannon’s heir. The only one who could enter the temple and eventually send Erawan away for good.

Thinking it was too easy, she’d gone over the pieces again and again, until it had all clicked into place. From the interactions between Brannon and Rhiannon Crochan that she’d witnessed in the mirror, Manon suspected there was more to their relationship than a shared desire to destroy Erawan. If Rhiannon was involved with creating the original lock and then the mirror, the chances were good she’d helped Brannon hide the keys. A coven of her Crochan witches would make for good protectors. They weren’t as well versed in fighting as the Ironteeth, but they were survivors. And even if only some of the rumors were true, their magic far outweighed what an Ironteeth was capable of. As she had worked it out in her mind, she’d felt a familiar sense of _knowing_. Something similar to the pull she’d felt with Abraxos, Dorian, even Aelin and Asterin.

Now, as she watched the sun rise across the mountains, she thought about what those moments of certainty and connection might mean. The sense didn’t happen with many ideas or decisions, but it was becoming more frequent. Stronger.

The boom of an approaching wyvern disrupted her thoughts and she turned to see Sorrel landing nearby. She’d been sent to bring Vesta’s group to them in an attempt to save time. Sorrel’s solitary return could mean nothing good. Manon rushed across camp to meet her Third as she dismounted from Lechen.

“They weren’t there,” Sorrel said before Manon could pepper her with questions. “I searched the area, about a fifty mile radius, and saw no signs of them.”

“They could just be late. We barely made it here on time,” Manon reasoned.

Sorrel nodded in agreement but she still looked concerned. “I can fly back this evening. Night is better cover. Especially in this flat, open space.”

“Tell me,” Manon said, sensing Sorrel’s reticence to give her opinion.

“I don’t know Manon. Something feels…off.” The little witch had stopped fussing with her wyvern and looked all around them before turning back to him, as if she was searching for something. “It’s been too easy. You know that. The Matron should have had whole covens searching for us. Mountains or no mountains. That wouldn’t have stopped her. But if she’s gotten hold of Vesta or one of the others… That could explain why we haven’t seen her.”

Manon was quiet for a long time. Vesta knew only their meeting spot and that Manon had a vague idea of where the Crochans were. She’d wanted to tell them all more, but had resisted the temptation. For this very reason. The Thirteen would not succumb to torture and spill information. They were trained to withstand it. And she had every confidence in them to do just that. But… But the methods of torture her grandmother now possessed in Morath were nothing they’d been trained to face.

“We can’t risk taking Dorian and the keys anywhere near there. You take Ghislaine and the twins and find Vesta. If they’ve been captured… Do whatever is necessary,” she said grimly, giving Sorrel a pointed look. Sorrel’s face had gone pale, but she nodded.

“Dorian and I will keep going. We need the third key. Once you find them,” she said, trying to infuse her voice with a confidence that was quickly evaporating, “you can catch up to us. Regardless of when we find the Crochans, it will take some time to get them on our side. Even with Dorian there.”

Sorrel looked puzzled. “Why is it so urgent you get the key? You don’t know how to use them. And it’s unlikely the Fae have returned with Aelin yet.”

Manon took a deep breath and made a split second decision, reaching into one of Sorrel’s packs and pulling out a crinkled piece of paper and pencil. She began writing out the wyrdmarks that she’d been forced to memorize in the witch mirror. Elena had insisted both she and Aelin know the spells. She didn’t quite know why she was doing this. But that day on the beach in Eyllwe still weighed heavy in her mind - Aelin’s insistence on not letting others know of her plans. It had been her downfall. Manon had already started down that path by hiding this. She wasn’t going to keep going.

She handed the paper to Sorrel and said, “These are the spells needed to forge the lock and seal the gate once Erawan is through.” A flicker of hurt passed over Sorrel’s face. “I’m sorry I lied and kept it from you… I wasn’t ready to tell him.”

Sorrel glanced over Lechen in the direction of their camp. “It is a terrible burden,” she said, adding, “I wish it wasn’t him.”

Manon said simply, “I do too.”

After a long silence, Sorrel asked, “What do you want me to do with this? These are wyrdmarks?”

“Yes, along with a few instructions on how to prepare the spells. It’s just a back-up,” Manon answered. “If anything happens to me, and if Aelin doesn’t survive. I’m not sure if anyone else would be capable of using the spells but at least the knowledge wouldn’t be lost. But Sorrel,” Manon’s voice became icy. “I don’t need to tell you that the Matron cannot get her hands on this. Not her, not any other Ironteeth. If you find it necessary to destroy the information to keep it safe, do it.”

“So, if the worst happens, who do I trust with this?”

Manon was working under the assumption that if she died, Dorian would likely die as well. Not because he was unable to defend himself. It was because he was more likely to put others’ safety above his own. No matter how important it was that he stay alive, she knew he’d risk his life for her and the others.

“The Fae King, Rowan. If not him, then Asterin or Dorian’s Second, Chaol. Aelin’s general as a last resort.”

“I take it I’m not included on that list.”

Manon froze. Sorrel closed her eyes and cringed. _Shit. Gods-damned shit!_ Manon slowly turned to see Dorian a few feet away, food in his hands, a terrifyingly blank expression on his face. “How much did you hear?”

“Enough,” was all he said. The ground around him was frozen, the air chilled.

Manon had never seen him look like this. So impassive, yet so intimidating. Holding his gaze, she said, “You have your orders Sorrel. Go tell the others. You leave tonight.” She sensed her Third leave, Dorian not acknowledging Sorrel at all. They just stared at each other for a long time. She tried sending him her thoughts, but he blocked them. Finally, she stepped toward him. “I can explain.”

“I thought you might be hungry.” Dorian handed her the bread and dried fruit he’d brought over. Then he turned and walked away.

 

* * *

 

 

Dorian’s mind was somehow empty and reeling at the same time. He was having a hard time breathing and ice spread within his footsteps, occasionally shooting in solid spurts from his fingers. He needed to get away from her. As far as possible. The rage and humiliation and hurt were building so quickly inside him, he thought his magic might explode. And there was no way he would risk being near her if he couldn’t control his magic.

He walked for about an hour, putting several miles between him and the camp. He made himself look at the mosses and low growing flowers that were just beginning to spot the tundra. Anything to distract him from what he’d overheard, anything to calm him down and ease the roiling he felt in his well of magic. When Dorian came upon a small hillside with exposed rock, he finally stopped, examining the sediment layers until his eyes began to blur. His magic faded and he was starting to breathe more steadily. He sat down against the rock, elbows propped on bent knees, and rubbed his temples.

 _She lied_. For _weeks_ she’d known the specifics of how to get rid of Erawan. She’d been asked _point blank_ about it and had lied. Not only to him, but to Sorrel, all of them. After she’d made some grand declaration, promising to share everything she knew. His chest began to ache with each inhale, ice crystals forming in the moss around him. _Why?! Why had she done it?_ It made no sense to him. He didn’t even really care about what she had lied about. It was the act itself. He’d put all his trust in her. After everything that had happened to him, all he’d confessed to her. She had lied. He dropped his head onto his arms, and released a long, shaky breath. He didn’t bother to fight it anymore, letting gasping sobs escape as the ice spread out around him.

Dorian sat that way for hours, alternating between states of half-sleep and numb wakefulness, no real difference between the two. As he watched the sun nearing the horizon, he sensed her approach. He didn’t move, refusing to look at her. He was no longer worried about his magic, but he still didn’t want to see her. Manon sat down next to him, careful to keep space between them. A thousand thoughts and emotions were spinning through his head - she’d lied; he didn’t deserve to be treated that way; what did he expect from a witch; but maybe he did deserve it; he was too weak to be trusted; everyone else believed that so why not her - and on and on.

“I’m so sorry Dorian. There’s nothing that will excuse what I did, but I would like to explain why. If you’re willing to listen.”

“I’d really rather not hear what you have to say,” he said flatly. She turned away at his reply.

 _Does she really think she can just talk her way out of this,_ he thought angrily, eyes fixed straight ahead. _This goes deeper than some bullshit spell. She’s just one more person who thinks I’m worthless._ That last thought contained so much pain, his chest began throbbing again. Manon must have sensed his feelings even though he wasn’t actively sharing them with her. She’d reached out to touch him but stopped, pulling back at the last second.

Quietly she said, “Then I’ll listen. You talk.”

He snorted derisively. “That’s not how this works.”

“Then tell me how it works,” she replied, her voice rising sharply. “Tell me what to do to make it better. To make you forgive me. I have no experience with this.”

He whirled to face her, his expression cold and malicious. “With what? Lying? You seem to be awfully good at it for this to be your first time. If you mean no experience apologizing, that I can believe.”

Manon’s jaw clenched as she narrowed her eyes. “Fuck you.” She said it slowly, enunciating each letter through gritted teeth.

“You have no right to be angry,” he snarled. Her eyes dropped briefly to his hands. They felt warm instead of the normal coldness he’d come to expect when his emotions brought out his magic.

“I do if you act like this.”

He thought he might burst into flame. He thought he might burst into tears. He thought… He thought…

“I thought you were different,” Dorian whispered, his voice raw as if he’d been screaming. “You treated me…like I mattered, like you saw more in me than the others. I thought you might…” He couldn’t finish. He just shook his head and stood to leave.

“What others?” she asked. He ignored her, heading back to camp before it got dark. She got up and followed him, repeating her question. “You thought I was different from who? Sorscha? Aelin? What others?”

There was no cruelty in her voice. Just desperation. She was trying to get him to talk to her, yell at her, anything. But he no longer felt like doing either. He just wanted to be alone.

Manon grabbed his arm and turned him around. Putting her hands on either side of his face, she made him look at her. “Anything you need, I will help you.”

A part of Dorian wanted to push her away and leave, just leave her here and never look back. Another part was already getting lost in her eyes, bright with the glow of sunset and unshed tears. And yet another part wanted to fall into her arms and cry.

But instead, he removed her hands from his face and stepped away, feeling his magic increasing. “Then tell me why,” he said shakily. “How could you take all I’ve given you, all of _me_ that I’ve given you and just throw it away so easily? You were different! You actually listened to what I had to say. You didn’t ignore me or dismiss my opinions as stupid or worthless. ‘Some arrogant little prince playing at being a king. We don’t need to listen to him. We don’t need to let him make decisions. We sure as hell can’t trust him with any secret plans or missions!’ Gods know how I’ll screw those up!” He was screaming now, steam pouring from his hands as both fire and ice fought their way out of him.

“What others?! How about everyone! Aelin doesn’t see me as an equal. I serve no purpose to her - no army and no money means no say in anything. Just another pretty hanger-on to add to her fucking collection. The rest of them act as if I don’t exist. I couldn’t even keep them from shooting you out of the sky! She did that,” he admitted, any shame he’d normally feel at this confession long gone. There was no reason to hold anything back from her now. He’d lay himself bare and she could do whatever she wanted with it. He no longer cared.

“Even Chaol didn’t trust me with his plans to overthrow my father. Did he think so little of me that I would expose him? Or did he think that I would actually want to keep my father on the throne so he could continue murdering and enslaving the continent?!” Manon was silent, watching him with wide eyes as he fought to maintain control over his magic.

“Did you know my own mother didn’t once ask about that fucking collar around my neck?” He shook his head and released a venomous laugh. “But let’s be honest, I would have been shocked out of the damn thing if she had spoken to me at all. She was only ever interested in me after I came of age and she could start planning my wedding. And then of course there’s my father. He was possessed by a valg for most of his life, long before I was conceived. Did you know that?” He stared at her until she answered with a slight shake of her head, apparently still unable to speak. “Who knows what the hell that makes me. But do you want to know the best part? My father was able to suppress magic and keep it hidden from the valg, from Erawan, from everyone for more than ten years and when I had that collar on, I couldn’t even remember my fucking name!”

As the magic coming from him intensified, he crossed his arms so his hands were pressed against his chest. Manon started towards him but the look he gave her stopped her dead. He paced in a small circle until his power began to dim. “And even better than that, you should like this…” She flinched at his words, although he was no longer yelling. “Even better than realizing my father was stronger than me is when I think about the moments before Sorscha died. Those moments I wasted feeling angry at her for lying to me. When I could have done something to save her. But instead, I was exactly who people expect me to be - a selfish, petty child. Too concerned about the humiliation to keep her alive.” He’d stopped pacing and was facing her now. “I don’t know why I expected you to be different.”

 

* * *

 

 

Manon opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. She’d been about to tell him how wrong he was. How Chaol and Sorscha had been protecting him out of love, not distrust or some defect in his character. How Aelin hid behind her arrogance and dismissals because she often lacked faith in herself, not those around her. His mother just sounded like an asshole. And his father… Well, she had no real reply to that because it was so obvious that Dorian was the better man. He’d proven it many times over. He just couldn’t see it.

But she didn’t say any of it. She thought if she did, it would only feed into his self blame, making his feelings seem irrelevant. He may be wrong about his friends’ intentions, but their actions had still caused him pain. Real pain. Just as hers had done.

She walked over to where he sat, tired and empty from releasing years of pent up frustrations. Kneeling beside him, she said, “I’ve never thought of you that way Dorian. And I don’t think your friends have either. I think they acted out of love, even if the results didn’t appear that way.”

“How would you know?” he asked. There was a hint of anger still present in his voice.

“I know because I’ve done what they have. And, I am guilty of the qualities you’ve mistakenly assigned to yourself. I’ve never once doubted you are a good person, an honorable King. You are intelligent and kind and the least selfish human I’ve ever met. And for those reasons, I lied to you.” Dorian looked at her, puzzled. “I lied to spare myself pain. I thought that by keeping those things hidden, I could also hide the fact that I was going to lose you. It was selfish and stupid and I am so sorry.”

Without waiting for his reply, Manon stood and began to walk back to camp. She felt numb. Although he’d managed to keep his magic in check, he’d bombarded her with his emotions. Every single feeling of hurt, shame, anger, grief. She knew it hadn’t been on purpose, but she felt she deserved it anyway. She didn’t know what to expect after this. Would he leave? Stay only until they found the key? Would he even speak to her again?

In that instant, she thought she could hate Dorian. Hate him for making her feel so vulnerable and weak. Hate him for making her feel anything at all. _Things had been so much easier before Oakwald_ , she thought. While she knew that wasn’t really true, it made her feel better to think it. To deflect the blame anywhere else, except where it belonged.

When Manon returned to camp, she was surprised to find Fallon still there. She’d been ordered to go with Sorrel on the search for the rest of the Thirteen. Manon narrowed her eyes in irritation at the young witch’s disobedience.

“Apologies Wing Leader,” Fallon said, clearly noticing Manon’s disapproval and clenched fist. “Sorrel feared Banshee would slow them down too much and made me stay behind. She also didn’t want to leave you and the King without an extra guard.”

It made sense, and Manon felt stupid for not thinking of it herself. But she wasn’t about to let Fallon know that. So, when Fallon ducked her head in deference, Manon simply nodded and said, “Get some sleep. I’ll take the first watch tonight. We’ll leave at first light.”

Fallon looked at her, slightly confused. “I thought… Sorrel said it was safer to travel at night.”

Manon shot Fallon a deadly glare that shut the witch up. “Sorrel is not in charge. I said we will leave in the morning. Now get some sleep.” Fallon gave a half bow and disappeared behind her wyvern. Manon glanced over to Abraxos. He huffed in concern but she ignored him, walking up a nearby hill to get a better view of their surroundings.

She’d been sitting there for awhile when she watched as Dorian finally returned. After pulling his bedroll from his pack, he stopped to pat Abraxos. The wyvern nuzzled his hand and then looked in her direction. _No_ , she sent him. _Let him be. He doesn’t want to talk to me right now_. Abraxos dipped his head and lay back down, his eyes still on her. Dorian hadn’t seemed to notice and he settled in by the remains of Fallon’s fire.

 

* * *

 

 

The sky was just getting light as Dorian was startled awake by Fallon, loudly wrestling things into her pack. He had seen her wyvern the night before but hadn’t really processed what that meant, that she’d stayed behind. Fallon looked over at him, apologetic but flustered, almost afraid. “I missed my turn at watch last night. Manon wants to leave soon I think.”

He closed his eyes as memories of the previous day and night flooded his mind. He was amazed that he’d actually slept. But after exploding like that, and fighting to keep his magic in check, he’d been exhausted. Manon hadn’t been in the camp when he’d returned. He had thought about looking for her, but then just…didn’t. He needed time. Although he’d calmed down on his walk back, realized that he may have over-reacted, he still didn’t trust himself to be around her. He already regretted some of what had been said and he didn’t want to add to it. They needed to talk more about this, but he wanted to be clearheaded when it happened.

“Where is she?” he asked.

Fallon motioned behind them to the crest of the hill that overlooked their camp. “That’s where she headed last night when she said she’d take the first watch. She never came to wake me up though.” She’d finished stuffing her blankets into the pack and ran it over to her wyvern.

“Fallon, what’s the rush? Is there something wrong?“ He sat up quickly, reaching for his sword.

She shook her head. “Nothing’s wrong. I just want to be ready to go. She was upset that I disobeyed and stayed behind. Banshee would have just slowed them down.”

“Where exactly did they go?” He hadn’t heard all of the conversation between Manon and Sorrel. He’d assumed they were just going back to get Vesta and the others.

“Vesta wasn’t at the meeting place. Manon was worried that something might have happened so Sorrel took the others to find them. If they do, they’ll catch up to us.”

 _If?_ Dorian stilled. “Could they just be late?”

Fallon turned from where she’d been harnessing her saddle to Banshee. “It’s possible. But when the Matron’s involved, it’s best to plan for the worst.”

 _Gods_ , Dorian thought with growing dread. He got up and began packing. He didn’t know what to think. He was still angry with Manon, still hurt. But now it was tempered by disappointment in himself. He hadn’t given much of a thought to the possibility that Vesta and the others would be in danger. Or how that would affect Manon.

Abraxos perked his head up and snorted in Dorian’s direction. He turned to find Manon coming down the hill. She looked like she hadn’t slept. _Of course not if she’d let Fallon sleep through the night._ Abraxos nudged Dorian’s arm and then pointed his long muzzle towards his approaching rider.

Dorian sensed Fallon walk up behind him. Manon’s face was emotionless but her eyes glowed fiercely as she met their gazes, each in turn. “We need to leave soon. Make sure you both get something to eat. We won’t be making many stops if we can help it.” Fallon nodded and walked away.

Quietly, Manon said, “I understand if you’d feel more comfortable riding on Banshee.” Then she turned away to saddle Abraxos. The little wyvern wore an expression Dorian couldn’t interpret. He wasn’t Manon and had no deep connection with the animal, nothing beyond a mutual friendship and respect.

But Dorian stepped back and watched Manon. He could decipher her as easily as reading a book. She had been busy during her night on watch. He could see, as well as feel, the walls she had rebuilt around herself. Although a part of him had in fact wanted to ride with Fallon, he now decided against it. He hadn’t forgiven her. But he still loved her.

When they were ready to leave, Dorian noticed her quick look of surprise as he mounted Abraxos and settled in behind her. She must have expected him to want nothing to do with her. The thought made his stomach twist. He’d made her think that. If she actually had seen more in him than anyone else, had treated him like he was worth something… Well, he’d just proven her wrong by his behavior last night. And she’d responded the only way she knew how - her armor was back in full force. She turned her head, just enough to glimpse him from the corner of her eye. “Ready?” she asked.

Dorian nodded. “Ready.” As he placed his hands lightly on her waist, he didn’t miss the way she stiffened at his touch.

 

* * *

 

 

Manon had spent the night working through different scenarios of her many problems, trying to think of ways to manage them. What if Dorian wouldn’t speak to her? What if he left? What if he stayed? What if Sorrel didn’t find Vesta? What if none of them returned? What if the Matron had them locked away in the bowels of Morath, left in the hands of Erawan’s valg princes?

_You sent them there. What did you expect?_

Manon had cringed at the voice. Her dark voice. It had been muffled lately. But it had returned, slowly creeping into her thoughts over the past few days. It had a vicious way of sneaking up on her. Although, she thought bitterly, now seems like as good a time as any to come back.

That thought had been like a door opening in her mind, letting the voice in to take over.

_You think you don’t deserve this? You promised to be truthful only to lie minutes later. You willingly sent your witches into her grasp. You lead the man you claim to love to his death. You deserve worse than this. Monster. Kin-killer. Demon._

The voice, full of hate though it was, had lulled her into a stupor that lasted the rest of the night. By the time the sun’s first rays were visible over the mountains, Manon had felt empty. Drained of feelings, problems, everything. She’d returned to camp not caring what awaited her. Sorrel and Vesta were outside her control. As was Dorian’s opinion of her. She thought only of moving forward - find the Crochans, convince them to ally with Dorian and Aelin, get the key. After that… she told herself she didn’t care.


	11. Unmade

Manon Blackbeak had finally broken. She dropped her sword and fell to her knees, sobbing. A dozen bodies were strung up around her, all unidentifiable except for one. One that was draped with a red cloak, a yellow leather band around her neck. An indication of who had done this, and who was meant to find it. The message left for her was clear - _this was your fault, you brought this on your coven, you brought this on the Crochans_. Manon opened her mouth to scream but nothing came out.

 

* * *

 

 

The day before…

 

Dorian watched Manon from afar as she fiddled with the straps of her wyvern saddle, checking for nonexistent weak spots. Busy work to keep her distracted and away from him. They’d barely spoken in the last few days and when they had, it had been short and businesslike. He’d tried to get her to talk but she had evaded him with curt answers to his questions and indifference to his observations. She’d resorted to ignoring him when they were on Abraxos, claiming he couldn’t be heard over the wind. Abraxos had turned and given him a look that, had it come from a human, could only have meant ‘that’s bullshit’.

Dorian hadn’t pushed her, though he wasn’t sure why. Each time he thought about it, thought of using his magic to keep her in one spot and make her listen, he would doubt himself. Maybe she really wanted nothing more to do with him. But even if she did, he’d reason that it wasn’t fair to keep going considering his plans involving Erawan. Either way, he would never push her, never force her to be with him.

Fallon’s presence had made it difficult to confront Manon directly. Had Sorrel or Ghislaine been with them, he’d have felt more comfortable seeking their help in getting through to Manon. But Fallon was too subservient to her wing leader. Manon had been making it clear that disobedience would not be tolerated. And so, Dorian didn’t want to drag her into his problems with Manon.

They’d found no signs of the Crochans as they’d made their way along the western edge of the Anascauls. Occasionally, they’d seen small groups of wild men traveling onto the tundra for seasonal foraging. But no permanent settlements. They flew by day, risking exposure but using the clouds whenever possible. Nights were spent higher up the slopes under cover of the ancient pine forests that Terrasen was known for.

So, tonight, as on the previous nights, he sat and watched Manon avoid him until she could disappear on guard duty. He was still bothered that she’d kept things from him. But his previous anger was gone, replaced by feelings of unsteadiness and frustration. Dorian knew he needed to fix things with her, but was unsure of how to do it. Especially now that she had fallen back into another bout of darkness.

Abraxos snorted, drawing his attention back to Manon. He tried sending her a feeling, a thought, hoping to sneak it past her defenses while she was occupied. But she made no visible sign of receiving it, and sent nothing in return. Dorian rubbed his face in irritation, got up, and walked away.

 

* * *

 

 

Manon felt Dorian trying to reach her, sensed his anger as he left camp. She tried to ignore it, tried to ignore him. But he was impossible to ignore. Just like the dark voice that played continuously in her head.

_You feel nothing. You deserve nothing. Monster. Kin-killer. Demon. The Crochans can’t be found because you killed them all. Your bloodlust destroyed them. Just as your recklessness will destroy your coven. Kin-killer._

In the past, she would have done something, anything, to drown out the voice. Dorian’s touch was the only thing that seemed to truly quiet it. At least temporarily. At least long enough to disrupt it and give her time to reason it away. But now, she just let it go. Just as she let him go.

_You don’t deserve him anyway. He only plays at being a monster. He has no idea what a monster really is. No idea what horrific things you’ve done. He is too good for the likes of you. You deserve nothing._

Manon continued running her hands over the saddle, its straps and fasteners, numbly checking and rechecking for breaks or rusty metal, letting herself sink deeper into the comforting darkness.

 

* * *

 

 

By the time Dorian returned, Manon was gone, likely keeping watch from the top of a nearby tree. Fallon sat at the fire, re-fletching her arrows. She stopped her work as he added some scraps of wood to the dying flames.

“You need to do something I think,” the witch said quietly.

Dorian didn’t look at her as he asked, “And what would you have me do Fallon?”

“If you care about her, fight for her.”

He threw the rest of the sticks into the fire. “If? She knows I care!” Fallon watched him, impassive. “And why the hell am I supposed to fight? She doesn’t seem willing to fight for me!” And there it was. What had been holding him back. Keeping him from forcing a confrontation. “She gave up before I did.” He sat down opposite her, breathing back the anger that was slowly rising inside him.

Fallon frowned sadly. “Did you know that we Ironteeth were beaten if we showed any signs of being soft? Any emotion. Any weakness. As the heir, Manon was held to the highest standard of us all.” She went back to her arrows. “That is not something one easily forgets I think. Especially when one chooses to embrace the darkness consuming her. She is drowning in it. And when you are that far under, you lose all sense of direction. You lose all desire to surface. You lose hope.” Fallon looked back up. “How can she fight for you when she cannot fight for herself?”

Dorian just sat there, silent and stunned. _When were these witches going to stop surprising me_ , he thought. _When the hell will I stop underestimating them_ , he corrected. “This happens to you?”

Fallon eyed him, hesitating. Finally, she nodded. “Faline is the only one who knows, though I never told her. Weakness was forbidden. But as twins, we share a bond. She doesn’t suffer from this, but she feels when I do. She often pulls me out of it, or can prevent it from getting bad.”

“How? What does she do?” Dorian leaned towards her, the desperation clear in his voice.

She smiled, knowing he wanted an easy answer but unable to give him one. “Our connection. We can sometimes feel each others physical pain. This,” she waved her hand around her head, “isn’t physical. It’s from my mind, but pain is pain. She can sense it nonetheless. Enough to know when I’m starting down a spiral.”

“But what does she do? Talking seemed to help Manon before. But this time seems worse. And she won’t even let me speak to her.”

“Sometimes Faline distracts me. Makes me play little games or plan out elaborate schemes for tricking people,” she said, raising her eyebrows. Dorian gave her a knowing smile and gestured for her to go on. “Other times she forces me to get up, interact, train, things like that. And sometimes she just leaves me alone with it. Lets me cry if I need to, or helps me avoid the others, keeps them away. Darkness is not always a bad thing I think. Without it we wouldn’t recognize the light.”

Dorian asked, “Doesn’t that bother you? When she pushes you to do things you don’t want to do?”

Fallon smiled, making her look younger than she was. “Yes. It does. At the time. But later, when I’m feeling better, I know it was necessary. When I’m having good days, I can dismiss the darkness as silly, or forget how quickly it can take over. It’s very easy to underestimate. But during the dark days, everything else can disappear. The good days never happened, will never return. No one can help. You don’t deserve help…” She trailed off, returning to her work, a look of shame crossing her face.

Tentatively, Dorian asked, “Would you be willing to talk to Manon about this? I think it would help if she had someone to talk to who understood.”

Fallon shifted uncomfortably. “I… I don’t know. She is my wing leader and heir. Maybe… If she came to me, I would of course have to answer.”

“Not even to help her now?” he prodded. Dorian had to fight to keep the hate from his voice. He despised the Matron. Despised her for punishing these witches into thinking themselves heartless, unworthy of friendship, undeserving of help. He felt the air around him chill and had to calm himself with thoughts of how the Matron might meet her end.

Fallon didn’t seem to notice the change in temperature. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, unable to meet his eyes. Her timid expression was something he never would have expected to see on a Blackbeak witch, let alone one of the Demon Twins. It did nothing to help quell his hatred of the Matron.

“No, don’t apologize Fallon. It’s not fair to make you share that if you don’t want to. I’m sorry for asking it of you.” His anger slowly turned into disappointment, but not with her, with himself. He hadn’t really understood the true extent of Manon’s demons. And it was likely that she didn’t either. He caught Fallon’s attention and said, “Thank you for sharing it with me though. You’ve helped me better understand what she’s going through. I’ll do whatever I can to help her. And if you ever want to talk about it, please don’t hesitate to come to me.”

She nodded then smiled. “Sorry for frightening you. Before. Faline is the reason we’re called Demon Twins.”

He shook his head and laughed. “No, I was an easy mark. You’re good actors.”

She let her nails spring out to glimmer in the firelight. “We do have reputations to maintain.”

 

Dorian woke Manon and Fallon at daybreak. He’d been given the second watch after Manon, conveniently ensuring he’d have no chance to be alone with her. After they’d each gone to a nearby stream to wash and freshen up, Dorian caught Fallon’s attention and signaled for her to give him some time with Manon. After her confession last night, he felt more at ease with the young witch, confident she would help him. Even if that help was something inconspicuous - like leaving to check on her wyvern so he could speak to Manon privately.

“Manon. We need to talk.”

She looked up from pouring water onto the remains of the fire. Her eyes looked glazed over. Not unlike when she’d had a vision. But this trance was not from any odd magic inherited from her father’s people, and not just from a lack of sleep. She _was_ drowning. And it was worse than before. He’d let it become worse.

Hating himself for it, he took advantage of her stupor and started speaking before she could reply. “I’m sorry for blowing up the other night. You shouldn’t have kept those things from me but I had no right to treat you the way I did.” She didn’t react. But she didn’t walk away. “All of that… The other night… It wasn’t about you and you didn’t deserve to have it thrown in your face.”

She’d flinched at his words, though he didn’t know which ones. He started towards her, but before he got close, Manon stood and said, “You have nothing to apologize for.” Then she turned to leave.

Without thinking, Dorian’s magic surged, holding her in place. From behind her, he saw her iron nails shoot from her fingers and heard a low, guttural sound from her throat. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

He stepped around in front of her. Manon’s iron teeth were out, visible behind a vicious snarl. She was pissed but also trying to scare him away. She should have known that it didn’t work on him. It never had. And it wasn’t going to now. He closed the space between them and dipped his head to meet her gaze.

“I’m not afraid of you or your demons. Whether the demon is your grandmother, or some part of you that she has defiled and twisted into something that makes you think you’re worthless. I stopped fighting for you because I thought it was what you wanted. Because we both thought it would be easier to stop, easier to give up. But I don’t want to give up. I love you Manon.”

Manon’s fury had eased as he’d spoken, her teeth and nails disappearing. But she stared at him with hard, piercing eyes. He released his magic and slowly brushed a strand of hair from her face.

“I love you and I will fight for you, _with_ you. But I need you to fight for yourself. I will help you. Anything. Anything you need. I will do it.”

 

* * *

 

 

Manon’s breathing was unsteady. She wanted to lash out at him for using his magic on her, for forcing her to listen to him, for saying he loved her. But she also wanted to lean into him. Lean in and let him hold her. Until that godsdamned voice was suffocated. _Why don’t I_ , she thought angrily. _What can’t I just say how I feel and be done with it?_

_Because you know you don’t deserve it. Don’t deserve him._

She squeezed her eyes shut, her hands covering her ears. She was going mad. Not from the visions or the mind magic or anything else. This voice - _this fucking voice_ \- was driving her insane.

“Manon? What is it? Tell me, please.”

She shook her head and dropped her hands. How could she possibly explain this? How could he possibly stay if she told him. “I… I just need time Dorian.” Even with her eyes still closed, she knew he didn’t believe her.

_I need time. I don’t know what else you can do._

Before she could stop him, Dorian pulled her into his arms. Manon hadn’t realized how much she missed this. It had been less than a week and she felt like she’d been starved of his touch for months. His face buried against her neck, his arms wrapped tight around her… She thought she could never move and be happy. Never leave his arms.

_But he is going to die. And you will help carry it out. Monster. Kin-_

“No,” she whispered. “Please stop…”

Dorian tensed slightly and pulled back.

Manon stifled a sob. “I didn’t mean… It wasn’t you. I…” She shook her head again, trying to force her scattered thoughts into coherent words. “You’ve been so patient. Too patient.” He frowned, about to say something but she stopped him. “I promise to tell you when and how you can help. But for now…”

“If you need time Witchling, I will give you time,” he said with a half smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He was trying to make her feel better. Trying to distract them both from the other reason she needed time. The thing she was still unable to say to him. Even after all he’d just said to her.

He kissed her forehead and she left herself lean into him for just a few seconds. Savoring his touch and the relief it brought. But too soon, he let go of her and started towards Abraxos to prepare him for flight. The little wyvern was looking at her. He huffed and nudged his head forward.

_You think I should tell him?_

A nod.

_About the voice? Everything?_

Another nod and another huff. She narrowed her eyes at him. A low growl and another nudge. _Fine_ , she thought with a sigh and walked towards Dorian.

_Princeling._

He turned, this time with a smile that transformed his face, lit up his blue eyes and dimpled his cheeks.

He held out his hand to her and she took it. “I missed hearing you call me that.”

She wanted to return his smile, let him know everything would be okay. But she couldn’t. And it wasn’t. Not yet. So, she just asked, “You no longer prefer ‘Dorian’?”

He looked up to the sky, dramatically tapping a finger on his lips, deep in thought. “I prefer both. Both every day.” He paused, watching her, hoping for a reaction she couldn’t give. Then, without the overacting, he said, ”You can call me anything you want Witchling. As long as you’re talking to me, I don’t care.” Then he lifted her hand and kissed each finger.

“Why do you do that? Does it have some human meaning?” She surprised them both with the question. But he’d done that before and she was too curious to let it go.

“Kissing a beautiful woman’s hand is a type of greeting among the nobility. At least, for those who are of the same status. Or if the woman is above the man.” He smirked and did it again, this time with her other hand. Her heart sped up as his eyes never left hers. “But I told you once before what it signified for you and I. Each finger that you have me wrapped around is a finger I will kiss.”

From behind him, she noticed Abraxos nudge his head.

So, without overthinking it, she said, ”Dorian, I’m sorry for lying about what I’d learned in the witch mirror.” He shook his head but before he could say anything, she kept going. If she stopped now, she might never tell him the truth. “And I’m sorry about this… The way this darkness comes over me sometimes. It-”

”I won’t let you apologize for that Manon,” he interrupted. “It’s not something you can control.”

”Maybe not. But it is something I must learn to deal with, and…” She hesitated, trying to push back against the decades of conditioning that told her to deny any weakness. “I can’t do it alone,” she said finally. “I can’t fight this alone.” Still holding her hands, Dorian gave them an encouraging squeeze. She turned to the side, unable to look at him if she was to continue. “Sometimes I hear this voice in my head. It makes me doubt myself. Hate myself. It tells me I’m a monster. I can’t reason with it or make it go away.“

”Your grandmother’s voice?”

Manon shook her head, almost smiling. “No. That would be easier in a way. It’s me. Well, part of me. I’m sure it’s influenced by her. But it’s still only me. It’s difficult to explain and even more difficult to ignore.” She looked at him now, desperate for him to understand. “It is so easy to believe it. So easy to let it take over. It scares me and I hate it and I don’t know how to stop it.”

Dorian hugged her, resting his chin on her head. They stood that way for a while, giving Manon’s anxiety time to fade. “Well, I can think of a couple of things that we can try. And if they don’t help, we’ll find something else.” She huffed out a laugh and pulled back shaking her head in disbelief. “What?” he asked.

”What? I tell you I hear a voice in my head and you just casually say you have some ideas for stopping it?”

“First, I didn’t say I could stop it. I’m powerful, but not that powerful.” Manon rolled her eyes, making Dorian grin. “Second, you forget who you’re talking to. Nothing you can say will make me run away screaming, “ he said, reminding her that she’d had no trouble accepting what he’d told her about his nightmares.

“And third?”

He laughed. “There is no third. Not everything comes in threes Witchling,” he said with a wink.

Manon sighed in exasperation. “So what are your ideas?” He opened his mouth and she clarified, “No numbered lists!”

Dorian threw his hands up defensively. “Okay, okay! I think one thing we could try is for you to tell me when it’s happening. If you aren’t able to come up with reasons to shut it up, I’m sure I can give you some. And, if I can learn what signs to look for, I can try to help even when you don’t want to admit you hear it.” She started to disagree but he went on. “I think it will help for you to talk about it, even though that may be the last thing you want to do at the time.”

Manon was skeptical, but she nodded. She was willing to try. Desperate to try.

“And that brings me to my other idea. I think you should talk to Fallon about it.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion. “Fallon? What does she have to do with this?” Her mind whirled, trying to figure out what possible way the twin could help her.

Dorian shrugged and said, “As much as I would love to be your knight in shining armor, there are some remarkable witches in your coven. They can help too.” She raised an eyebrow, knowing there was more to his suggestion than he was telling her. “I just think she is a good listener.”

He clearly wasn’t going to elaborate so Manon let it go. Fallon shared a quiet watchfulness with Sorrel. But the young witch’s twin… Faline was loud, boisterous, intimidating. And she did a good job of drawing Fallon out of her shell. It was easy to forget that the twins were such opposites when Faline exerted such a pull on Fallon. Manon decided she would consider his suggestion and talk to Fallon soon. If for no other reason than simple curiosity. She had led the Thirteen for decades, but was now realizing there were still discoveries to be made about each of the witches. The Matron’s indoctrination against forming friendships had meant that Manon’s knowledge of them was lacking. She knew who to assign to what task, who worked well with others, what each was capable of in battle. She knew their likes and dislikes, their habits. But she didn’t know the whys behind them. Didn’t know why Ghislaine was so drawn to her books. Didn’t know why Imogen insisted on keeping her hair cut short, or why Lin always kept a pendant around her neck, not even removing it for battle. She hadn’t even known why Asterin had changed so much all those years ago.

_You didn’t know because you never bothered to ask. You can’t blame that on your grandmother. That was your fault. You are heartless. You are nothing._

Manon gasped at the sudden intrusion of the dark voice into her thoughts, just now realizing it had been silent. She shut her eyes and whispered, “Now. It’s happening now.”

Dorian tensed. “Tell me what it’s saying.”

She told him. Everything she’d been thinking about, everything it said. When he asked about Asterin, Manon gave him the short version, leaving out the details that weren’t hers to share. While she’d spoken, Dorian’s face had hardened into something frightening.

“I don’t know why I’m still surprised,” he said. “I keep thinking there’s nothing I can learn that will make me hate the Matron any more than I already do. But it’s becoming a daily event, like the sun rising each morning. Gods, if I ever see her…” With a wicked grin, Dorian took her hand and bowed. “I would love to meet your grandmother Queen Manon. I have many things I’d like to talk to her about. Perhaps we can arrange an introductory dinner, say, next Thursday?”

Manon actually laughed at that, surprising herself a bit with the sound. She bowed in return, “Why, that sounds lovely King Dorian. I would quite like to meet your mother.”

“Oh Gods.” Now Dorian was laughing. “Only if you bring the Thirteen! Then she would be the one running away screaming.”

What had just happened? She was smiling, joking, laughing when minutes ago she’d thought those things impossible. Dorian was still talking, describing the imaginary meeting with their awful families. _He happened_. He had distracted her from the darkness. Not permanently, but enough to let her surface. Enough to breathe. And before she could stop herself, Manon said, “I love you Dorian.”

He stopped laughing and his smile disappeared. He looked stunned, and a little suspicious, as though he was waiting for her to claim it was a bad joke.

“That’s why, even though I knew it was wrong, I couldn’t tell you what will happen when you face Erawan. You are so determined to sacrifice yourself. Without even trying to find another way. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to stop fighting this damn curse. I don’t want to give up either.”

Manon took Dorian’s hands. Softly, she kissed each finger, her eyes on his. “I love you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Dorian was speechless. And completely lost in her eyes. He was vaguely aware that he was grinning.

“Princeling? Hello?” Manon was smiling too. A shy, sweet smile that he didn’t see often. One that made his heart feel like it was melting.

Gently taking her face in his hands, he said, “Hello Witchling.” Her eyes glowed in response and he dipped his head to kiss her. But just before their lips met, he whispered, “I love you too.”

 

They’d spent most of the day flying through the lowest cloud layer, making it difficult to be seen, but easy to dip down and check their surroundings. As they dropped out of the clouds, Dorian felt Manon’s sharp intake of breath. He turned to his left, following her gaze. Far below them, he saw a large village tucked within a deep valley, something not easily discovered unless you were flying. Its presence wasn’t the reason for Manon’s reaction. She’d gasped at the pillars of smoke rising into the sky, too dark and too thick to be coming from chimneys.

“Oh Gods,” Dorian murmured.

Manon signaled to Fallon and they began to descend, spiraling down in narrowing circles to make sure there was no visible danger before landing on the outskirts of the village. As soon as the wyverns touched down, Manon dismounted, Wind Cleaver already in hand. Fallon loaded two arrows into her bow while Dorian pulled Damaris from his scabbard and jumped off Abraxos.

“Keep watch for trouble,” Manon told Abraxos, who huffed in reply then growled at Banshee.

The faint smell of charred flesh hit them, dissipated, then hit them again, coming and going with the changing winds. The witches’ overdeveloped sense of smell left them almost gagging so they covered their faces with squares of cloth pulled from their packs. Dorian felt sick too, but not just because of the smell. Rather, it was from his knowledge that the flesh was human. He refused to dwell on it, focusing instead on Manon’s silent instructions for entering the village. She motioned for Fallon to take the lead, Dorian next, then she’d bring up the rear. When they were set, she nodded for them to start towards the village.

Fallon led them down dirt paths, presumably heading towards the village center. The smoke wasn’t as bad on the ground as he’d expected. While several larger buildings still smoldered, the fires in the rest had burned out already. But the place was silent, making the hairs on Dorian’s neck prickle with unease. They took their time, making sure each turn was clear before taking it, checking the few buildings left standing. Too distracted by potential enemies, Manon wasn’t holding in her thoughts. So Dorian sensed it all - all her worry, fear, anger. He tried to soothe her emotions, but it was a struggle for him as he was feeling the same way she was.

As they turned onto a new road, the open village square became visible at the far end. About half way along, Fallon slowed to peek inside a building that was barely standing. Dorian stopped to look too as Manon continued down the road.

“This was done a few days ago,” Fallon said quietly. “A week maybe.”

They could only see into two rooms but it was enough to know this had been a home. A few toys were sticking out of the rubble, and the partially intact kitchen had rotting food strewn about the floor.

“The food was left here,” Dorian said.

Fallon nodded, understanding what he hadn’t asked. “No bodies either. I can’t explain this.”

They both jumped as a scream echoed down the empty road, coming from the square. Dorian ran, remembering Manon wasn’t with them. Fallon followed close behind.

He ran out into the square and stopped, Fallon barely avoiding him to continue past. Hanging from trees were about twelve or fifteen bodies, too burned to be recognizable. Some too small to be anything other than children. Fallon bent over and threw up. He spun around, looking for Manon, only to find her kneeling before the one body that was not burned. The one covered with a red cape. Like the cape he’d seen her wear that first day they’d met. The breeze lifted it just enough for him to glimpse the red hair underneath.

Vesta.

Dorian ran to Manon just as she was about to fully collapse on the ground. He caught her, blocking her view of Vesta as she sobbed against his chest.

“My fault… All my fault…”

He’d seen tears fall from her eyes before but never anything like this. Never this much emotion. He felt it too, waves of pain and grief and guilt pouring from her. It was almost enough to cover the other terrible sensation he was beginning to feel - they were being watched. He looked around to see Fallon slowly walking towards them, eyes on Vesta.

“Fallon.” She didn’t look at him. “Fallon! I need your help. Now!” He hated himself for the harshness of his words. But they needed to get out of here. The witch jumped and turned towards him. “I need you to hold her while I get Vesta. We have to leave.” Fallon started over but before she reached them, Dorian saw movement out of the corner of his eye. _Shit_. She’d seen it too and readied her bow. He threw more magic into the shield he had over the three of them, but an instant later, he felt it tremble as something hit it. Manon had quieted a bit but when he silently asked her to call for Abraxos, she didn’t reply.

 _Abraxos - If you can hear me get the hell over here!_ He had no reason to believe the wyvern was as attuned to him as he was to Manon, but there was no other way for them to escape.

Fallon moved so they were back to back, Manon still in his arms. There was movement from all around the edge of the square now. Why hadn’t he sensed them before? His magic should have warned him. But Dorian dropped the thought as he felt his shield prodded again, like it was being tested for weak spots. At the same time that he heard Abraxos’s distant roar, his shield crackled and then… just disappeared. He tried to form it again but he couldn’t. It felt as though something were weighing him down, preventing him from using any magic.

_Shit!_

He turned to see a woman walk from one of the collapsed buildings. She wore a red cape, a hood covering her face, a long spear in her hand.

“Crochans,” Fallon whispered.

The knowledge should have buoyed his spirits. This was who they’d spent weeks searching for. But even had his magic not been suppressed, the witch’s posture as she closed in on them told him they were not being welcomed with open arms. And the other hooded figures rising around them with arrows pointed at them… That was a pretty clear sign too.

Dorian stood slowly, still holding Manon, her arms tight around his neck. “I’m King Dorian Havilliard of Adarlan. We’d like to speak to your matron or queen.”

The witch stopped and pulled back her hood. Dorian started at her appearance. Although she was taller and had darker skin, she was clearly related to Manon. Her hair, done in small, tight braids, was the same shade of white. And her face was so like Manon’s, only her features were younger, as if she was still a witchling.

The Crochan seemed unconcerned as she looked from Dorian to Fallon and settled her gaze on Manon. “The King of Adarlan,” she said with a cocky grin. “Well, good for you.”

She raised her hand and signaled for the others to come out. They immediately went to the bodies and began gently taking them down and wrapping them in blankets. When they got to Vesta, Fallon growled and tried to stop them, but she was frozen, unable to move.

“Now, now Blackbeak. Play nice and no one gets hurt.”

Dorian tried to gather his magic, able to feel it in the well within him, but unable to do anything with it. He gritted his teeth from the effort, not giving up until the witchling said, “Don’t bother King… Dorian was it? You might be powerful but you’re poorly trained. I’m going easy on you. Keep pushing and that will change.”

Once all the bodies, including Vesta, were taken down, the witchling nodded behind her. All but a few of the witches picked up the dead and headed out of the square, disappearing into different buildings. Dorian had no idea what the hell was going on. Where had they come from? How was this witch completely negating his magic? Where was Abraxos?

Perhaps at the thought of the wyvern, Manon stirred. He twisted his head to look at her, but she was just staring into space, in shock. He looked back at Fallon, still unable to move. She was present, but it was obvious that she was fighting to keep it together.

Turning to face the Crochan, he found her staring intently at Manon. The witchling walked slowly around him, trying to get a better look. He held Manon closer, a low growl escaping from deep in his throat. When she made her way back in front of him, she cocked her head and said, “So they do have hearts.”

She nodded and the remaining Crochans quickly walked over and put sacks over their heads. Fallon struggled but Dorian reached back and put his hand on her shoulder. She stilled but he felt her breathing hitch, about to fall apart. He shifted Manon so he could hold her with one arm, the other still on Fallon’s shoulder.

“So heroic,” the Crochan sneered.

Dorian said nothing as the witches pushed them forward. He stayed silent about the wyverns, though he desperately wanted to ask if they were ok. In the slight chance the Crochans hadn’t seen them, he wasn’t going to draw attention to their presence. As they were carefully led around rubble and guided down - _Down?_ \- rough stairs, Dorian kept reaching into his well of magic, trying to gather it, pull it up to use. But each time, he was stopped. As if he was the one in iron chains, in an iron coffin. _Shit._

He tilted his head and whispered in Manon’s ear, “I love you Witchling,” breathing a sigh of relief as he felt her arms squeeze him just a little tighter.


	12. Promise

Dorian had laid Manon down on the cot and pulled up a chair to sit next to her. Watching her sleep, he twirled the piece of dried lavender that he’d found sticking out of a pocket inside her flying leathers. They’d been brought through what must have been miles of tunnels before being shoved into a room, sacks pulled from their heads, door slammed shut. Shut, but noticeably unlocked. The ‘room’ was actually a cave, naturally occurring but with some obvious alterations. There were small, uneven holes near the ceiling that seemed to act as ventilation shafts. And two walls had storage spaces carved out of them, filled with various containers and linens. It was lit by hanging glass balls of magical fire, similar to the lights he’d made to impress Manon not so long ago. Several cots and chairs filled the space, reminding him of a healer’s treatment room from his castle. The recognition had hit as soon as he’d had a chance to examine his surroundings. But surprisingly, it had not triggered any painful memories. Dorian supposed he was simply too exhausted and worried about their current situation to flash back to Sorscha’s death.

Fallon was lying on a nearby cot, staring at the ceiling. She’d been silent in the tunnels. Unable to see her, Dorian had worried she might disappear within herself after what they’d found. He wasn’t sure how close Fallon had been with Vesta, but it didn’t really matter. She’d lost the equivalent of a sister. And he thought that without Faline here to help her cope, Fallon might succumb to her own darkness.

Much as Manon seemed to be doing again. She’d stopped crying shortly after they’d descended below ground. But she didn’t speak or really acknowledge his silent attempts to reach her. Dorian had alternated between checking on his magic - still unattainable - and sending her questions - _Are you okay? Can you hear me?_ He thought maybe the suppression of his magic was keeping the messages from getting through to her. But there were a couple of times when she’d squeezed his neck as if in reply. Perhaps it was coincidence, but he didn’t think so.

He’d tried asking the Crochans some vague questions. Nothing too specific that would give away any information. But they’d refused to answer. A little while after being left in their room, a witch had brought them water and food, which remained untouched. And again, they’d received no answers to their questions. Even Fallon’s plea to know about Banshee.

Dorian looked to Fallon. “Any idea what they have planned?”

“Nothing good I think. But they didn’t kill us outright…” She turned onto her side. “They seem lax with their security here. This isn’t even a proper prisoner cell. I could easily use one of these chairs as a weapon. Or broken glass from a jar. Not that I need it.”

Dorian nodded, relieved to get that much of a reply from her. “Maybe it has something to do with their magic. I am untrained. But for that young witch to just shut my power off like that… It makes me wonder what their older witches can do.”

“You still can’t use it,” she said, stifling a yawn.

He replied with a frustrated sigh. “No. I can feel it there. I just can’t reach it.” She yawned again. “Get some rest Fallon. I’ll stay up in case anything changes.” When she looked unsure, he said, “I’ll wake you in a little while and we can trade off.”

After she fell into an uneasy sleep, he allowed himself some time to consider all that had happened. The destroyed village, the Crochan dead, Vesta. He let himself worry about Abraxos and Banshee, about Sorrel and the rest of the Thirteen. Let himself feel fear from the dangerous uncertainty of this situation. As he sorted through his limited knowledge of the Crochans, trying to think of a way out of this mess, he eventually gave into his own exhaustion and fell asleep.

Dorian woke with a start at the sound of the door opening. The witchling version of Manon, he had no idea what to call her, stood in the opening, watching them. She appeared to be disinterested, but she wasn’t a very good actor. The way her dark eyes focused on Manon was worrisome.

“You know who she is,” Dorian said.

“Of course I do,” the witchling replied haughtily. “We’ve been raised on bedtime tales of the White Demon who would pick our bones clean if we didn’t behave.” She huffed. “She doesn’t look that scary. Rather soft if you ask me.”

Fallon had woken in time to catch the witchling’s taunt. The iron laced snarl she gave the young Crochan was enough to make Dorian flinch. Trying to maintain a civil expression and tone, he said, “I meant the other name she’s known by. The last living heir to Queen Rhiannon Crochan.”

The feigned indifference vanished. Through gritted teeth, the witchling said, “She is not the last heir.”

Now he had to keep from smiling as he felt a twinge of his magic flare. “Finally, a genuine reaction. All that puffed up bravado from a…how old are you?” Turning to Fallon, he winked and asked, “What’s the witch equivalent of a bratty teenager?” She gave him a wicked grin, then snorted a laugh when she saw the Crochan fuming.

As the witchling prepared a vicious reply, Dorian quickly tested his magic reserves. He wasn’t sure how much he could use, but the hold over it had definitely loosened. With an arrogant smirk, he said, “What is it that they let you do around here? Perhaps you can find me better accommodations. These aren’t fit for a King.”

That did it. The witchling looked ready to burst in anger but before she could say or do anything, Dorian pressed her against the wall with his magic. Fallon sat up quickly, ready for what ever might happen next. He knew this was a hell of a risk. But if it got the attention of the Crochan leadership, it was worth it. They didn’t have time to sit around in a room, not knowing what had happened to the Thirteen, or their two wyverns.

He stood up, staying just out of her reach in case she broke his hold. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to speak to your matron,” he said quietly, all his previous arrogance gone.

She didn’t struggle or speak. Instead she closed her eyes and took a few deep inhales and exhales, trying to calm herself down. He realized too late that he shouldn’t have stopped goading her. Within seconds she’d settled enough to regain a hold on his magic, forcing it to sputter out like an extinguished lantern.

“Shit.”

He was too distracted by her smug grin to see the kick that hit him square in the stomach, sending him against the wall and onto the floor.

“I think this suits you just fine. And don’t you ever touch me again.”

“Annabee!”

Dorian, Fallon, and the witchling, Annabee apparently, all turned to the door to find an older witch, hands on her hips, a pissed off look on her face.

“Yes grandmother?”

He looked back and forth between the Crochans, trying to get his breath back and process what the hell was happening.

“That is no way to treat our guests! Apologize and get back to work.” Annabee dipped her head, mumbled a barely audible “Sorry,” and left. But not without first casting Dorian a satisfied smirk. He narrowed his eyes at her, clutching his stomach.

When she’d gone, he moved to sit with Manon, blocking her from the old Crochan. “Guests?”

She sighed and smiled apologetically. “Yes, well. Not all of the clan is happy about who our lost queen turned out to be,” she said, motioning toward Manon. “I knew, as did the others on the council. But many here will take some convincing.”

Dorian stared at her for a long time. She seemed to understand what he was trying to figure out so she just stood there, smiling. Finally, he said, “You’re Manon’s grandmother.”

The witch smiled and, looking past him, said, “Yes. I am.”

Dorian spun to find Manon awake, her face a mixture of wonder and sadness and shock. He reached over and took her hand, running his thumb over the top of her fingers. She squeezed his hand but couldn’t take her eyes off her grandmother. Dorian thought she’d never looked more beautiful.

 

* * *

 

 

Manon was unable to speak. Unable to stop the tears that ran down her cheeks. The witch - _grandmother_ \- took tentative steps towards her, a sweet smile never leaving her face.

“I’m sorry about this,” she said, gesturing to the room they were being held in. “As I was telling your King, I had to agree to certain precautions before the council would let you enter. I should be able to get you rooms of your own soon.”

After noticing Fallon and ascertaining that her sentinel was okay, Manon asked in a hoarse whisper, “Abraxos? Banshee?”

The old witch said, “Your wyverns are fine Witchling.” Manon released the breath she’d been holding and caught Dorian’s slight smile at the witch’s use of his nickname for her. “They gave us some trouble at first, but that little one with the sparkly wings calmed down for me, and the female followed his lead. He must be your Abraxos, yes? They are inside a cavern closer to the surface so they can come and go to hunt.”

“Thank you,” Manon said. She looked around the room, no memory of how they’d gotten here. No memory after finding Vesta…

“Vesta,” she whispered.

“She was placed nearby. We have our own ways to mourn the dead and send them to the Darkness. We did not want to disrespect yours so she was kept apart. That’s actually why I’ve come. To see if you were awake and wanted to say goodbye.”

Manon’s tears started anew and she turned to Fallon, who was crying silent tears of her own. She’d never thought the day would come when she’d lose one of her Thirteen. Even with all the battles and fights and rivalries. Even when she’d despaired on Aelin’s ship, not knowing where they were. She’d never fully believed one of them could die. She knew she couldn’t do this alone, so she held Dorian’s hand tightly in hers, then nodded to her grandmother to lead the way.

Before anyone could move, Dorian stood and said, “Forgive me for being rude, I’m Dorian. This is Fallon,” he said gesturing to the young witch. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name?” Manon couldn’t help the small smile as she remembered their conversation from earlier, how Dorian had joked about their families meeting each other. He caught her watching him, pulled her up and kissed her forehead, seeming to remember it too.

The witch smiled at them. “My name is Aven. It is a pleasure to meet you your highness.” She bowed her head slightly then looked to Fallon, “And you Witchling.” Fallon smiled shyly.

Aven then turned to Manon. “I’m especially pleased to meet you, Manon.” She looked as if she wanted to hug her but she stopped herself.

Manon hesitated as well, unsure of what to say. She hadn’t even known that the witch existed. Now, it seemed silly that she hadn’t considered it. She’d had a half-sister. How many of these witches were family? What would they think of her and all she’d done?

“I didn’t know…,” Manon said quietly, shaking her head. “Any of it. I didn’t…” She trailed off, choking back the sob that threatened to break through.

Aven reached up and put a hand on Manon’s shoulder. “I know Witchling. Don’t worry over it right now. We have much to catch up on you and I. And I promise, you will learn everything in due time. But for now… Perhaps we should give you two a moment,” she said, eyeing Dorian.

Aven left the room, motioning for Fallon to join her. Manon could hear them speaking softly in the passageway.

Dorian turned to her, his brow furrowed in concern. “Are you alright? I didn’t know what was happening or how to help you. You weren’t answering me so I didn’t know if you could hear me…” He sighed in frustration. With himself. With his incorrect notion that he’d done something wrong or not done enough.

She wanted to say yes, I’m alright and be done with it, but that would be a lie. Though, saying no wasn’t accurate either. So much had happened over the past couple of days, she was unable to really process it all. She felt numb and exhausted, despite the sleep. Drained of emotion, but also like she needed to release more. Dorian was watching her, patiently waiting for her to gather her thoughts, like he always did. Manon smiled. “Not quite yet. But I think I will be. And I did hear you. Thank you.” She reached up and gently kissed him.

Resting his forehead on hers, he said, “Whatever you need.”

She hugged him, whispering in his ear, “And whatever you need, Princeling. I haven’t forgotten that.”

She sent him a question, having realized what kind of room they were in. But he only smiled and said, “There were enough distractions to stave off my demons this time.”

Manon took his hand and they joined Aven and Fallon, following the Crochan as she led them through multiple passageways.

Silently, she asked Dorian, _Where are we?_

_We were blindfolded but brought through several miles of tunnels. I’m afraid I lost track of how far we went, or the direction. You’ve seen as much as I have actually._

_I don’t remember what happened after I saw her._

He put his arm around her, pulling her close as they walked. _You didn’t miss much_. He caught her eye and raised his brow. _Although, I should warn you. There is a younger, Crochan version of Aelin wandering around here somewhere._

 _Oh Gods_. Manon sighed in mock annoyance.

_On a more serious note, she is also a Crochan version of you. She’s related to you._

Manon’s eyes widened.

_I’m not quite sure how, but she looks a bit like you. I didn’t want you to be startled by her._

She sent him a rush of her emotions - gratitude, worry, and love. She made sure to put all of herself into that last one, hoping to convey how strongly she felt it for him.

Dorian caught her eyes and she was unable to look away. _I love you too Witchling_. He nodded his head towards Aven, who had stopped in front of a closed door. She’d allowed herself to become distracted, wanting to delay this for as long as possible.

“I’ll wait elsewhere,” Aven said. “Please take as long as you need.”

Manon turned back to Fallon. The witch looked so alone without her twin, so slight despite her armored flying leathers. It made Manon’s chest ache. She sent a question to Dorian, who nodded, then she dropped his hand and reached for Fallon’s. She led her into the room as Dorian followed Aven down the passageway.

Vesta’s body was laid out atop a stone platform carved from the wall. The red cape was nowhere to be found and she was covered with a dark blanket. Manon left Fallon at the door to slowly lift the blanket edge nearest Vesta’s head. The yellow bands that had been around Vesta’s neck were gone. She didn’t know why she’d had to check. But knowing they were no longer defiling Vesta’s body was a relief.

Manon returned to Fallon and hugged her. She could tell Fallon wasn’t quite sure what to do, her body stiff. But after a few seconds, the witch collapsed into Manon’s arms, crying. Tears fell from Manon’s eyes as well, but she had decided to try to stay strong for Fallon. Not as the perfect example of a heartless Blackbeak who shows no weakness or emotions. But as a friend offering a shoulder to lean on, a sister sharing the burden of grief. As a leader providing comfort when one of her own has fallen.

They stood together for a long time, holding each other until the tears stopped. When they were ready, they went to stand by Vesta. With Fallon’s hand held tightly in her own, Manon said, “Vesta, my fierce warrior. You were unfailing in your loyalty. I wish we’d had time together as friends. I’m sorry you had to wait so long for me to understand that.” Manon took a shaky breath. “And I’m sorry that you’ll have to wait again. You weren’t known for your patience.” Fallon nodded in agreement, a corner of her mouth curling up. “But I promise that one day, we will all be together again Vesta. You can tell us the new stories you’ve learned, and we will relive the old.” Manon looked to Fallon to see if she wanted to add anything, but she shook her head. So, together, they said, “We are the Thirteen, from now until the Darkness claims us. And beyond.”

A silent moment passed. Then Manon looked at her young sentinel and said, “Fallon, you’ve seen how I sometimes succumb to darkness. Have you ever experienced anything like that?”

Fallon opened her mouth to speak then closed it. Manon smiled. “I won’t make you speak about it. But if you ever need to, I would listen.” She wanted to get Fallon to open up, both to help her and selfishly help herself. She paused then added, “If I ever needed to speak to someone about it, would you be willing to listen?” The witch looked surprised. “The Matron deemed this a weakness, but she was wrong.” Thinking about her pact with Dorian, Manon asked, “Perhaps we can make a promise to help each other?”

Her eyes bright with tears, Fallon smiled and said, “I would like that Manon. Very much.”

Manon pulled the young witch into another hug, smiling as Fallon did not hesitate to return it.

 

* * *

 

 

While Manon and Fallon said their goodbyes to Vesta, Dorian and Aven waited in an adjacent room. The witch hardly ever stopped smiling. Her long gray hair was braided and wrapped around her head like a crown, and she was almost as short as Sorrel. Her eyes were light brown, as if they’d faded from a darker color over time, making him wonder how old she was. He couldn’t pinpoint what feature had made him realize she was Manon’s grandmother, though the overall resemblance was strong. He thought it had something to do with how the witch held herself. She had a regal air about her that he also associated with Manon. And yet, her clothing was simple homespun, a sharp contrast to the armor and fighting leathers he’d gotten used to with Manon and her witches. Even with the majestic aura, she looked like a grandmother from one of the bedtime tales read to him as a child. He had no recollection of what the Blackbeak Matron looked like, but he was confident that she was the exact opposite of Aven.

“Do not hesitate to ask questions your highness. I am happy to answer them.”

Wanting to impress her, he gave her his brightest smile and said, “Please, call me Dorian. I’m actually without a kingdom at the moment.”

Aven chuckled, a slight blush rising in her cheeks. “That’s likely to be remedied soon, Dorian.” Before he could ask what she meant by that, she continued. “What would you like to know?”

He eyed her curiously. There was a lot he’d like to know. Even more that Manon would want to know. So, he decided to wait and ask the important questions when they were all together. “Annabee. She is also your granddaughter?”

Nodding, she said, “She is my great-granddaughter actually. Rhiannon’s daughter. She is… a handful.”

Dorian laughed in agreement. “I have a friend she should meet. She and Aelin would get along well I think.” After a moment thinking about it, he amended himself. “Or they’d try to kill each other. So, maybe it’s not a good idea.”

“The young Terrasen Queen? If she is anything like her ancestors, you might be right.”

“How do you…”

Before he could finish, a witch walked into the room and whispered into Aven’s ear. From the foul look she gave Dorian, he supposed she was one of the Crochans who wasn’t pleased with them being here.

Aven stood as the other witch stepped into the passageway. “I’m sorry but I’m needed elsewhere at the moment. Catrin will take you to your new quarters when you are finished.” More quietly, she said, “I assure you that you are all safe here. But,” she shook her head as if to apologize again. “Catrin is one who is not happy about the current situation. Please try to overlook any rudeness for the time being.”

Dorian took her hand and patted it gently. “We will be fine. Thank you Aven. Thank you for giving them time with Vesta.” The little old witch blushed again, nodded, and left the room. She stopped and spoke to Catrin though Dorian couldn’t hear what was said.

Catrin peaked into the doorway, her expression hard but neutral.

“Hello, I’m Dorian. We haven’t-” But she turned back around, ignoring him.

That’s promising, he thought, sitting back in his chair. Though, he really wasn’t surprised. He didn’t know the specifics, but he knew the Ironteeth clans had hunted the Crochans for centuries. And he’d gathered that Manon was well-known for it. He was admittedly biased towards Manon, in regards to her claim to this throne and the cause for which she was fighting. But he knew that the Crochans had every right to be defensive, rude, or even hostile. In fact, he’d worried about this meeting the entire time they’d been searching. Manon had too, which was why he’d never brought it up. Without any solutions to offer, he would have only added to her concerns.

He thought back to what Fallon had said. They hadn’t been killed on sight, and that was promising. Aven seemed to be on their side, despite the anti-Manon faction in the clan. Though, he had to wonder if she knew the details of Rhiannon’s death. Manon would not keep it from her, nor should she. But it would certainly complicate things. Aven had mentioned a council, which could work in their favor. If it acted the same way a human council did, they’d only need to get the majority to agree with them. And if worse came to worse, maybe they could at least get permission to take any followers with them to join Aedion in Terrasen. The key would be to get the Crochans to see the real Manon. Not the so-called White Demon. Not the monster the Matron had tried to create. A reputation was a difficult thing to change however. It would take time. Time they didn’t really have.

Dorian had no idea how long it might take for Rowan to find Aelin, or for Aedion to consolidate his armies. But they’d been traveling for weeks now, with no information about Erawan’s movements. The valg could be slaughtering the countrysides for all he knew. His stomach churned at the thought. He’d known that finding the third wyrdkey would be difficult. _That’s an understatement_ , he thought. Although they’d had nothing to go on, he had hoped to find it quickly so he could end this quickly. End it before more innocents had to die or his friends had to sacrifice themselves. While they hadn’t exactly wasted time, their journey had progressed slowly. But now… Manon was confident the Crochans had the key. He trusted her, but even if she was wrong, this was their best lead.

The sound of a nearby door opening drew him from his thoughts and he walked into the passageway. Catrin gave him a shitty look that he returned with a smile. Manon and Fallon came out, red-eyed and sniffling, but Manon had a slight smile on her face.

Noticing his curious expression, she sent, _Your suggestion to talk to Fallon was a good one_.

He arched an eyebrow. _Be careful Witchling. That sounds like you’re saying I was right_.

She laughed and reached for his hand. He took hers and kissed it. When he turned to ask Catrin where they’d be staying, he found her staring at them, eyes narrowed in confusion.

Using his most diplomatic voice, Dorian said, “They do have hearts Catrin. Please don’t believe everything you’ve been told.”

She looked at each of them in turn, her gaze holding Manon’s the longest. Finally, she said, “I’ve been instructed to take you to your rooms. But if you’d like, we can go the long way so you can see your wyverns.”

Fallon’s face lit up like a firework, making Catrin flinch back. Dorian choked back a laugh, not wanting to damage the little progress they’d just made.

Manon bowed her head slightly and said, “We would be in your debt. Thank you.”

Catrin clearly didn’t know what to make of Manon. The White Demon crying? Laughing? Thanking her? But when she looked back to Fallon, Dorian saw Catrin’s expression soften. The young Blackbeak had been lost in grief until the mention of her wyvern.

“Which one had the injured tail?” Catrin asked.

Fallon looked to Dorian and Manon with worry. “Mine. Why? Is she ok?”

Catrin smiled and said, “She’s fine. My husband is a healer and he checked her over when they were brought in.” Fallon sighed in relief. “He doesn’t have experience with wyverns,” Catrin continued, “but he was able to repair a badly healed break in one of the bones. He wants to keep her grounded for a few days, but she’ll be fully recovered soon.”

Fallon thanked her again and again the entire way to the wyvern cave. At one point, Dorian thought Catrin looked as though she regretted saying anything. But the Crochan had smiled at them a few more times.

 _This is promising Witchling_.

_Well, you’re irresistible right? That’s why I brought you along. For your uncanny ability to charm witches._

_I am charming aren’t I?_

Manon closed her eyes and sighed.

 _I could see your eyes roll underneath your eyelids_.

She coughed and looked down to her free hand. The iron nails slowly extended from her fingertips.

_I just had a great idea! We should ask for an audience with the council and when I show them how ticklish you are, they’ll give us whatever we want!_

Dorian was barely able to keep from laughing as Manon fixed him with her worst glare, snarl included.

When they entered the cave holding the wyverns, they found both Abraxos and Banshee watching the entrance, eagerly waiting for their riders. Banshee’s tail was splinted again but she seemed in good spirits, especially as Fallon fussed over her. Manon, trying to maintain some decorum and failing, hugged Abraxos and let him fuss over her. He sniffed her up and down, making sure she was unharmed.

When the little wyvern turned and did the same to Dorian, Manon said dryly, “Well, I guess you’ve won him over now too.” Abraxos huffed in reply, nudging her into Dorian. “Yes, yes,” she said laughing. “He’s irresistible.”

A man entered the cave carrying two large buckets. Catrin met him and took one from his grip. Dorian assumed he was her husband. They sat both buckets near Banshee. He heard the man explain to Fallon that the water contained a tonic that would help relieve pain and speed Banshee’s recovery. The witch coaxed her wyvern over and got her to start drinking it.

Manon watched the scene unfold with suspicious eyes.

_What’s wrong?_

_Men do not live with witches. I thought I’d misheard her_.

Noticing them watching, Catrin led her husband over to them. “This is Alastair,” she said. He was taller and stockier than Dorian, a bushy red beard obscuring half of his face. He looked more like a champion from Rifthold’s underground fighting rings than a healer. But Dorian saw the kindness in his eyes and in his treatment of the wyverns.

Dorian introduced himself, offering a hand. Manon was still reticent, but she followed suit, thanking him for his help with the wyverns.

Taking on the role of outsider, not much of an act really, Dorian decided to go ahead and ask the questions he had, assuming Manon had them too.

“Pardon my ignorance, but are you a Crochan witch as well? I wasn’t aware male witches existed.”

Alastair laughed. “No, just a human man. Though we do have male witches here. Witchlings of any gender are rare, but females tend to outnumber males. They tolerate us humans to keep their population steady. We are more than happy to help,” he said, winking at Catrin.

The Crochan rolled her eyes, her face a mix of exasperation and embarrassment.

Dorian couldn’t hold in his laugh this time. “She knows how you feel Catrin,” he said, nodding to Manon. The two witches exchanged a quick look of commiseration.

Catrin began to leave. “I’ll show you to your rooms now.” She turned to address Manon. “Aven only had two prepared, but if you’d like your own…”

Manon looked at Dorian, considering the offer. He pulled his lips between his teeth to keep from smirking and dipped his head in deference to her.

She snorted a laugh. “Thank you but two will be fine.”

Catrin was smiling as she led them from the cavern, waving to Alastair.

 

* * *

 

 

Dorian nudged her as they walked. _Promising, Witchling._

_You won’t get me to say you were right._

_Then I’ll just have to keep trying._

Manon made a show of rolling her eyes at him. A laugh came from behind them and they both turned.

“I don’t know what you’re saying but it’s still entertaining, “ Fallon said.

Manon owed Catrin for taking them to see their wyverns. It had cheered all of them, but Fallon was the one who really needed it. When they reached their rooms, Catrin led them through Fallon’s first. The ‘room’ in this case was more like a small compound. It consisted of a separate bedroom, living area, and washroom, complete with warm running water. Fallon’s packs and fresh clothing were waiting on the bed. Catrin explained that while some Crochans had their own kitchens within their compounds, most preferred to eat communally. For the time being though, Aven had instructed that food be brought to them.

Fallon was exhausted so they said goodnight and followed Catrin to their rooms. They were set up in a similar fashion, though the spaces were completely different. While a lot of the tunnels and rooms the Crochans occupied were hewn from stone, they took advantage of natural cavities whenever possible. As a result, Manon and Dorian’s rooms were oddly shaped, but comfortable.

As Catrin left them, Manon followed her out, leaving Dorian to sort through their things that had been left for them.

“I wanted to thank you for taking us to see our wyverns,” Manon said. “It meant a lot to us, but especially Fallon. And our thanks to your husband as well. I meant what I said. I am in your debt.”

Catrin was quiet for a moment, watching Manon as if trying to decide something. Eventually, she nodded and said, “You’re not what I was expecting. I’m not fully on board with this, and I hate admitting it… But I might have been wrong about you.”

The Crochan’s reply filled Manon’s head with questions. But she bit them back, knowing this was not the time, not wanting to jeopardize what little progress she seemed to be making. Manon nodded her head in thanks and turned to go back inside.

But before she could, Catrin said, “I’m sorry for what I said about the extra room. It’s not something Crochans normally joke about but Alastair and I have an unusual sense of humor.”

Manon looked at her, confused. “We weren’t bothered.”

Catrin smiled. “Some Crochans take great offense if a joke is made regarding their mate.” She shook her head. “I said it before thinking. I’m glad you weren’t offended. Aven should bring your breakfast around seven. Goodnight.”

The witch turned and walked away, leaving Manon frozen where she stood, fixating on the only word she’d heard Catrin say.

Mate.


	13. Chosen

_Mate_.

Manon didn’t move. _She couldn’t have said ‘mate’_ , she thought. _Witches don’t have mate bonds. Crochans must have another meaning for it_. Unwilling to consider it any further, she pushed it away and went back into their rooms, finding Dorian already asleep. The stress of the past few days had caught up to him.

She left him and wandered into the washroom. It was dominated by a stone basin, large enough for a person to stretch out in. Manon tested the faucet, expecting cold water. These caves and tunnels were beyond belief, even without considering the presence of plumbing. Hot water poured out and she quickly plugged the basin, letting it fill up. She stripped off her flying leathers and filthy clothes, eased herself in, lay back and closed her eyes.

The past week had been brutal, leaving Manon little time to process all that had happened. Dorian had forgiven her for lying about what she’d learned in the witch mirror. He’d thought her theory that the Crochans possessed the final wyrdkey a good one. And she’d told him about the spells Elena had shown her and Aelin. When she’d balked at telling him how the spells would kill the magic wielder, Dorian had insisted on knowing. To his credit, he hadn’t reacted outwardly, but Manon could feel his inner doubt. And fear. She’d tried to reassure him, promising to do whatever it took to keep it from happening. But he’d seemed resigned to his fate and nothing she said could change that. So, she’d let him drop the subject. She had become resigned to something too. Something she’d kept to herself - if no alternative was found, she had no intention of letting him face death alone.

And then, almost immediately, they’d found the Crochan village. And Vesta. Manon felt the tears start, so she took a deep breath and dipped under the water. Even after seeing her and saying goodbye, it still didn’t seem real. She knew it would take a long time for it to sink in. She stayed under until she was no longer able to hold her breath, sitting back up with a gasp. Knowing she could not ignore it, she forced herself to think about what Vesta’s death was meant to convey. Other than the obvious threat from the Yellowlegs, and the Blackbeak Matron. They knew her plans, knew roughly where she was. They’d found the Crochans.

But it was personal too in that they’d hoped to break her. Manon supposed they’d been successful. The sight of Vesta had snapped something inside her. She’d been unable to hold anything in - all her emotions had burst from her, leaving her numb. When the Crochans had appeared, she’d seen them and known who they were. But she’d been in shock, unable to really make sense of what was happening, or to even care. Having been without sleep for days, the few hours she’d just received had somewhat revived her. Without Dorian and Fallon though, she might still be in a catatonic state. So, while her enemies had succeeded, they’d also eventually failed. She was stronger than they’d realized, stronger than she’d realized. She wiped away a few stray tears and took a deep breath. Just as importantly, she had strong people around her, willing to help when she was unable to shoulder the weight of loss by herself.

Manon turned her thoughts back to Vesta. She must have been captured at Morath, likely tortured, though her body had shown little sign of injury. Manon wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, thinking about the methods available to the Matron. She was confident Vesta would not have broken and confessed their destination. Unless perhaps the information had been forcibly taken from her mind. Maybe using valg magic. And what of the rest of the Thirteen who had been with Vesta? Had they been captured as well? Were they still being held? Or were they dead?

She shook her head. Dwelling on those details wouldn’t change anything. If the others were alive, she knew Sorrel would find them. Vesta was gone. And Manon would make those who did it pay dearly. _Perhaps with their heads_ , she thought darkly, her Ironteeth blood lust rising inside her. A few days ago, she might have pushed back at the thought, insisting she should no longer be that witch. But now, it soothed her. She was reminded of Dorian’s line between killing for pleasure or for necessity. She supposed an argument could be made against the need for revenge. Especially when considering witch history - centuries of blood feuds, death begetting death. _Fuck argument_ , she thought. The Blackbeak Matron and Iskra were evil filth. Dangerous to the world, not just her and the Thirteen. Revenge would certainly be a part of her motivation, but other lives were at risk if they were not dealt with. While she washed and dried off, Manon entertained herself with visions of that revenge. Visions of Iskra and the Matron, rendered helpless by Wind Cleaver, begging for their miserable lives. If she felt generous, she’d end them quickly. _Doubtful_ , she thought. Nothing would incline her towards generosity when it came to those two.

Wrapped in a towel, Manon went into the bedroom. Dorian was still sleeping and she smiled at how he lay - on his stomach, sprawled across the entire bed. Dressing in the simple clothes left by the Crochans, she kissed his cheek and returned to the front room, aimlessly poking through storage baskets and containers. Trying desperately to keep her mind from returning to what Catrin had said. Despite her earlier attempts to explain it away, she had heard the witch correctly. Knew exactly what she’d meant by the word. Mate. Manon sat down heavily in a large, cushioned chair. _Damned gods. Do they think this is funny? They have nothing better to do than fuck with peoples’ lives?!_

Manon didn’t have a problem with the idea of fate, or being guided by a god or goddess. She’d heard of most deities, but she’d been raised worshiping the Three-Faced Goddess. She was no zealot like the Bluebloods. But she had faith in her goddess, and had felt connections and pushes here and there throughout her life. And, she had to admit it had been happening much more frequently in recent months. The more she thought about it… A memory sprang forward. Her frantic search for Elide in the dungeons of Morath. She’d felt a force, heard a voice even, guiding her to the witchling. But it hadn’t sounded or felt like the Three-Faced Goddess. Elide was guided by Anneith. Could she have been pushing Manon to save her chosen one? Was it common for the gods to do that? Influence someone they had not selected to guide? She sighed. These were questions for Ghislaine. Or Dorian.

 _Mate_.

No, the problem wasn’t really with her. It was with him. Choice had never really been part of her upbringing and she’d never taken issue with that. And with her faith in the Three-Faced Goddess, she was relatively unconcerned with the question of fate versus free will. When she considered the role the Matron would have had in that way of thinking though... Maybe my acceptance of fate is not such a good thing, she thought. But regardless of her influences, that was her worldview. She was not like Ghislaine or other witches she knew. She didn’t feel the need to analyze or worry over something that had no impact on the here and now. She trusted her goddess and she trusted herself, recent events notwithstanding.

Dorian however… They’d never spoken of anything so philosophical but she had the distinct impression he was not one to let fate or the gods determine any part of his life. His life seemed to have been devoid of choice, despite the many privileges that accompanied his title as prince. Controlled by his father, then the valg prince that invaded his mind and body… She understood completely why he would be reluctant about a bond like this. Yes, he’d accepted his role in Elena’s plan. You can’t get more preordained than that, she thought, her anger rising at the memory of Elena’s mistake and how the cost had been pushed off on innocents. But that impacted the world, his friends, not just himself. Sacrificing his choice, not to mention his life, to save them… That didn’t surprise her. Being told who to love was a different matter.

Manon rubbed her eyes. She was thinking herself to the point of madness. There was absolutely nothing to be done about it right now. She needed sleep. Then, in the morning, she would talk to him about it. Not wanting to wake him, she curled up in the chair and pulled a nearby blanket over herself. After what felt like hours, she finally fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Dorian woke to voices in the outer room. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep so quickly last night. But as soon as he’d hit the mattress, he was out. The bed was even still made beneath him.

He sat up and stretched. He could hear Manon in the other room. “ - rather similar practices. We have a short ceremony - candles, a recitation. Ironteeth cremate their dead and then spread the ashes in the sky. Fallon and I can both ride on Abraxos.”

Aven said, “Does the time of day hold any importance in the ceremony? Or would this evening be suitable?”

“No, this evening would be fine. Thank you.”

Dorian walked out of the bedroom. “Good morning ladies.” Aven looked at him, amused. Manon sat at the table with her, giving him an odd look he couldn’t quite interpret.

“I’ve brought breakfast,” Aven said. “And news that the hold has been lifted on your magic. Your weapons will be returned shortly as well.” She snapped her fingers. “There you go!”

Dorian laughed and wasted no time testing it, chilling the air around them and creating a small flame in his hand. “Thank you! Not using it can be uncomfortable.” He playfully narrowed his eyes at her. “Were you controlling it this whole time?”

She smiled. “Not the whole time. But I have the power to restore it. No one else here will be able to suppress it from now on.” He caught her eyes as they roamed around his head. “Perhaps you’d like to freshen up before eating?”

He turned towards the washroom and caught his reflection in the mirror, just visible through the partly open door. His dark hair was sticking up in places and the shadow of whiskers he’d tried to keep under control was about to become a full beard soon. Spinning back around to the witches, he smiled, bowed low, and went in to clean himself up. Both had returned his smile though only Aven had blushed. As he filled the basin, he idly wondered if Ironteeth witches even could blush. He supposed with their blue blood it would look rather odd.

Hurrying through his routine, Dorian realized he left his clean clothes in the bedroom. Standing back to remain unseen, he cracked the door and poked his head out to ask Manon to get them. But she was already there and holding two stacks - one provided by the Crochans, one from his packs.

She smirked. “I thought you might need these. Though, I wasn’t sure which style you’d prefer.”

Silently, she said, _You are a shameless flirt_.

 _I just want her to like me Witchling_.

He looked between the stacks. Manon was wearing a blue knit sweater over dark leggings. Clothing similar in its simplicity to what Aven wore. Except what Manon wore was decidedly un-grandmother-like. His eyes trailed down her body and back up again.

 _Lucky for you we have company_.

She arched an eyebrow. _Now how is that lucky?_ She flashed a wicked grin, shoved the clothes into his arms and shut the door. Dorian laughed as he got dressed, then went out to join them.

Aven had brought fresh bread, jam and soft cheese to spread on it, fruit, and tea. Dorian’s quizzical expression must have been obvious as Aven said. “I was just telling Manon about the topside villages where we keep goats, chickens, other livestock, and grow all of our crops.”

“Villages? Plural?”

She smiled. “Yes. Our underground, we call it the Maze, runs for many miles. It connects to all of our villages above. And it’s a safe haven when we need to hide. You are in a less inhabited offshoot here. But the rest of this end of the Maze is rather full at the moment.”

Dorian noticed the apology in her voice, and the sadness in her eyes. He wondered how many from the village had been able to escape. Relatively few bodies had been found so he was hopeful that most had made it to the Maze before the Yellowlegs attack. Not wanting to press the issue, he remained quiet and ate. He glanced towards Manon and saw that she looked uncomfortable.

_What’s wrong?_

She didn’t reply or look at him, instead she took his hand under the table.

“I have a question,” she said, looking at Aven, who nodded for Manon to continue.

“Catrin said something to me last night that I didn’t quite understand.” Silently, she told Dorian, _You were already asleep_.

Aven shook her head in disappointment. “I hope she wasn’t rude. She can be somewhat abrasive at times.”

“Oh no. She was fine. Very helpful in fact,” Manon said. “But she mentioned something about witches…” She dropped his hand. “Something the Ironteeth were told was not possible. But perhaps for your clan, it is.”

Aven looked back and forth between them. Dorian was beyond confused. “What’s going on?” he asked. His confusion was quickly turning into worry. “What did she say?”

Manon stared at Aven and said, “That witches could have mates.”

Dorian froze. Slowly, he asked, “What…do you mean by ‘mate’? Like the Fae mating bond?”

Manon didn’t answer, which was answer enough. Aven continued to look at each of them, until finally she said, “I thought you knew. The way you both acted… It is a gift of our Fae blood.”

Not sure what to do or say but unable to sit still, Dorian stood and walked around the room. The temperature in the room dropped and he noticed ice crystals forming in the wake of his steps. “Are you saying Manon and I are mates? Bonded? By some magical force in her blood?” His tone was much harsher than he’d intended and he sensed Manon slump. Not visibly, but emotionally. After taking a moment to try to calm himself, he sat back down and said, “I love her. And that has nothing to do with blood or magic…or…or some damned god who gets off on messing with peoples’ lives.” He hadn’t calmed down. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. Not at Manon or Aven. “Damn it!” He smacked the table and stood again. “Isn’t it enough that they require me or Aelin to die for them? Where does it end? They won’t even let me choose who I love?”

Manon was watching him, a sad but understanding expression on her face. She didn’t look surprised by his outburst. And that made it somehow worse. That she understood him so completely and accepted him as he was… It was one of many reasons why he loved her. But… Was it really understanding and acceptance? Or just some fucking trick of magic letting her read his thoughts?

“That’s why we can communicate without speaking. Why it never worked with anyone else. It’s not from magic.” Manon’s jaw had dropped slightly, realizing he was right. “At least, not magical in the way we thought it was.”

Aven nodded. “That is a part of the bond, not your magic. You were able to do it here even with your magic suppressed, yes?”

Dorian didn’t answer, he thought he might be sick. But Manon asked, “How does it work?”

Aven nodded for him to sit. “You think you had no choice in this Dorian.” He saw her eyes flick to the pale band of skin around his neck and back up to his face. “I understand why that would bother you. But in this case, you are wrong. Neither of you have knowledge about witch bonds it seems. Let’s change that.”

She gestured again for Dorian to sit, the set of her eyes more demanding this time. He looked at Manon and realized how she must be taking his reaction. So, he sat. Under the table, he took Manon’s hand and clasped it tightly. He felt her relax at his touch, and was about to send her a thought but caught himself at the last second. It felt wrong all of a sudden. Like he was no longer controlling anything he did or said when it came to her. The notion made his stomach roil again, and he hated himself - hated the gods! - for associating doubt with her. He looked at Aven, trying to extinguish the angry expression he knew was on his face. She was smiling at him. Always smiling. He thought that if he were a more cynical person, her smile could become like a thorn in his side. But instead, he found it was comforting, trustworthy, sweet. He finally felt a little calmer, so he nodded for her to explain.

“Our bonds come from our Fae ancestors. The gods have nothing to do with it. But remember, some of our blood is valg. They have nothing comparable to a bond, but their blood impacts witch bonds in several ways. The Fae have two types - mate and carranam. Carranam bonds are platonic connections involving magic and power. It requires the sharing of blood for the magic to unite between the two parties. Making each more powerful, or allowing one to use the other’s power.

“Witches have a platonic bond, called a chymariad bond. It doesn’t involve the blood sharing and isn’t necessarily about combining power. It can involve a family member, friend, or even a wyvern,” Aven said, nodding to Manon. “The simplest explanation is that it is a positive connection with another being.”

He glanced over to see Manon deep in thought. Eventually, she said, “That’s something I could feel? Like the loom of the Three-Faced Goddess?”

Aven nodded. “Yes exactly! You are both connected. Each chymariad bond has different strengths, different qualities or abilities associated with it. Your bond to Abraxos is very strong I imagine. Can you communicate with him as well?” Manon nodded. “And you chose each other?”

“Yes. Immediately actually. I felt him chose me. He saved my life and I saved his.” She was quiet for a minute. “I must have a bond with Asterin. My cousin and Second,” she explained to Aven. “Sometimes I could sense her presence, or feel… I can’t quite explain it. Almost like a string between us.”

“Yes, another strong connection, but with qualities very different from Abraxos I think,” Aven said. “Chymariad bonds are varied and complex, sometimes difficult to understand or describe. But that does not mean they are any less strong than a carranam bond. Another way our valg ancestry affects witch bonds is that we have a third kind that the Fae do not. An elyniad bond.” She paused then said, “I suppose you could call it…an enemy bond. It is also a powerful connection. But negative, destructive, poisonous. Nothing like the other two. It often ends in one of the bonded killing the other.”

Dorian immediately thought of the Matron, and he knew by Manon’s face that she had too.

“The cariad bond, our mate bond, is interesting. I can’t actually say for sure if the valg blood is the cause for its differences from the Fae mate bond. Witches were first made from Fae and valg of course. But our kind has bred with humans for centuries. I think that is the true source of the difference. It seems unlikely that valg blood would account for it…” She trailed off, sitting in quiet thought for several moments.

“Account for what? How is it different?” Dorian asked. He hoped he’d kept the eagerness from his voice. The possibility that his feelings for Manon had been influenced by outside forces of any kind was infuriating. But if it involved the valg in even a remote way… He began to reach for his neck but caught himself.

Aven chuckled. “Sorry. I can drift away in my own thoughts sometimes. The difference Dorian,” she raised her eyebrows at him, “is choice.”

Manon tilted her head. “I thought the Fae bond involved choice.”

“It does. To a certain extent,” Aven said. “But again, that might only be due to centuries of breeding with humans. I’ve seen mate bonds between purebred Fae that were particularly feral in nature. Very different than the cariad bond.”

Not for the first time, Dorian wondered at Aven’s age. Most Fae in Erilea had been hunted and killed by his father. But even before that, to have a purebred Fae ancestry on this continent would have been unusual. Doranelle though… He let it go and turned his attention back to her.

“So yes, there is choice. A Fae bond can be rejected. But it’s exceedingly rare. Usually, the pull is too strong to overcome. A cariad bond however, is almost entirely reliant on choice. In fact, you two had the potential to form any of the three bonds” She focused on Dorian. “You mentioned the gods’ curse on Elena’s heirs.”

He arched an eyebrow in surprise. “I don’t think I used those terms.”

The old witch waved a dismissive hand. “We will discuss that another time.”

He looked at Manon. She shrugged but he caught the quirk of her mouth, the glint in her eye. They’d been right to come here for help against Erawan.

“It’s certainly possible the gods did things to bring you two together for other reasons. But your choices,” she looked them both in the eye, “your actions determined whether a bond formed, and what kind of bond it would be. A witch bond of any type cannot be controlled by outside forces. I don’t know the specifics of how you met, but I would guess that it could have easily resulted in a chymariad bond or an elyniad bond. And, unlike the Fae bonds, ours can take time to develop. A choice can be made instantly upon meeting and the two bonded go on from there. But it can just as easily take multiple interactions, over weeks or months, to determine the bond.” She shook her head. “I have many theories about them but not much evidence to back it up. I think the longer it takes to develop, the stronger it is, regardless of the type of bond.” Looking at Manon, she said, “But your bond with Abraxos doesn’t seem to follow that logic. So,” she shrugged, “who knows?”

“So, the gods forced us to meet but everything else was our own doing,” Dorian said with hesitation.

“No and yes,” she said smiling. “No, they did not force you to meet. You are giving those fools too much credit Dorian. With one or two rare exceptions, they cannot outright control humans or Fae, or even valg. Much as they’d like to. What they can do is select someone to guide or influence. Then nudge that person in a direction they want them to go. They can put a fork in the road and hope that you take the route they favor. But you decide whether to go right or left or turn back around. Or leave the road entirely. I admit that it might be difficult to ignore those nudges. You might turn around and later find another fork. And some people simply give in to it against their better judgment because they think it is easier to obey. But, they cannot control you.”

He remembered Aelin’s possession by Deanna in Skull’s Bay. “The exceptions?”

Aven’s smile disappeared as she glanced to his chest, where he’d secured the two wyrdkeys in an inside pocket. “I think you know of one. The other is through prophetic vision. That method is quite rare but has happened.”

Manon asked, “And how is it that a witch can form a bond with a human?”

“It doesn’t take very much Fae blood to create a witch bond. Dorian has some through several different ancestors. A drop in the bloodline can be enough, though the amount may influence the strength of the bond. We don’t really understand the bond with our familiars. But if I had to guess, I’d say your bond with Abraxos is a gift directly from the Three-Faced Goddess herself.”

Manon frowned. “So any witch can form a bond? Not just those with Crochan blood?”

Aven’s face saddened. “Yes Witchling. This is not restricted to our clan. I imagine the Ironteeth have either been misled by your leaders, or the knowledge was simply lost through time.” She looked down at her hands. “I suspect it was the former as two of your matrons were born well before the Witch Wars and would have been aware of witch bonds.”

Manon just nodded, unsurprised by the accusation. “The current Yellowlegs and Blueblood matrons are only a couple of centuries old. Baba Yellowlegs was killed last year.”

A slight chill ran up Dorian’s spine at the pleased smile on Aven’s face. She may look like a grandmother from children’s books, but she was as deadly as any Ironteeth witch. Unlike his ability with the Fae warriors or Aelin, he couldn’t get a read on her magic. And he knew it wasn’t because she lacked it. She was so strong in magic, so powerful, that he couldn’t even sense it in her. Either she was cloaking it completely, or it was at a level he simply couldn’t register or comprehend.

Aven broke their silence. “I’m afraid I have a prior engagement to attend to and I’m already late. If you wish to visit your wyverns again, please do so. I will be back this evening to prepare the ceremony.” She reached across the table and patted Dorian’s arm. “Don’t forget Dorian. Unfortunately there are many things we cannot control in our lives. But this,” she gestured between him and Manon. “This is something you both chose. The cariad bond is incredibly powerful. In some ways, more than the Fae mate bond. But it only strengthens and expands upon that which was already there.” She stood and walked to the door.

Dorian and Manon looked at each other. They both knew she was right. Especially about the circumstances of their first meeting. Dorian had practically begged Manon to kill him that day in Oakwald. She could have slit his throat easily. And later, she could have done nothing and let Aelin kill him. Or the Yellowlegs. He could have let Rowan draw every last breath of air from her lungs. Or let her sink to the bottom of the sea. He knew she was thinking the exact same things. They’d been given so many opportunities to turn away. So many chances to leave the other and go on with their lives. And they’d made so many excuses - owed life debts, simple curiosity, a common goal to defeat Erawan. Those things weren’t lies, but they were still excuses. Still diversions from what they’d both been afraid to admit until recently.

Manon turned and nodded to Aven. He only heard the door click, too busy still watching Manon. His mate. He’d been wrong yesterday. When he’d thought she had never looked more beautiful. As she turned back to face him, his breath caught. The lights made her eyes glow like molten gold. Her hair, wavy and loose and hanging down her back, looked like moonlit strands of silk. Her lips, slowly spreading into a smile, were a soft, pale pink that he suddenly wanted to touch, with his finger, his tongue…

“Hello Princeling.”

He tore his gaze from her mouth and looked into her eyes. In them, he saw how much she loved him. He felt her love for him too, along with her acceptance of all that he was, good or bad. And he felt that she chose him. No one else. He was hers. He reached over and caressed her cheek. He gathered together all of the love, gratitude, and awe he felt for her and shared them. Along with his acceptance of all that she was, good or bad. She was his. He had chosen her and no one else.

“Hello Witchling.”

 

* * *

 

Manon had never seen Dorian’s eyes look the way they did now. She’d been lost in them many times, had seen them dance in the light of campfires, darken in desire. But this was different. They shimmered like brilliant, blue flame, Intense and all-consuming. She stared into them and could see his love for her. He blinked, and the movement of his long dark lashes brought her out of her daze. He was grinning, dimples in full bloom on his cheeks.

 _He really is beautiful_ , she thought, then immediately regretted it when his grin turned into a cocky smirk.

He stood, bringing her with him, pulling her as he backed into the bedroom. _Undoubtedly, Witchling. But i don’t hold a candle to you_.

She rolled her eyes and sighed, while he just laughed. When he reached the edge of the bed, she surprised him by pushing him back onto it. Crawling on top of him, she straddled his waist. “Perhaps I can make your eyes roll Princeling.”

“I think I’d prefer it if you called me King,” he said, crossing his arms behind his head. Before she could stop herself, she sighed and glared at him. Dorian laughed again and sat up, wrapping his arms around her. “It‘s just so easy. And I cannot resist how cute you look when you’re exasperated with me.”

“Cute? Cute?! Witches are not cute!” She was only partially faking the pissed off tone in her voice.

He just smiled. But then his expression turned devious and he bent his head and ran his nose down her neck. And along her collarbone, while he slowly dragged his hands from her knees up her thighs. When they reached her waist, they slipped under her sweater and spread across her bare back. She tried to retain some of her feigned anger when he met her gaze, if only to continue with their teasing. But Dorian’s expression told her he knew. He could feel her body and mind responding to him. Wanting him. Wanting more. Wanting everything. His knowing wasn’t just from the bond. It was obvious in her rapid breathing, the way she was beginning to move her hips against him. But still, she liked the game. “Damn bond,” she growled, pushing him back down on the bed and wiping the smug look off his face with a slow, deep kiss.

Manon took her time kissing him, working them both into a frenzied mix of need and want and… _More_. Her fingers moved lazily through his dark hair, still damp from his bath. His hands clutched her ass, helping to push her against him. When she released his mouth, running her tongue along his bottom lip, he had to catch his breath. He made to roll her over so she was beneath him, but she sat up and held him firmly between her legs. “Oh no,” she purred, wagging a finger back and forth. “If I am to call you ‘King’, then that makes me your Queen. Yes?”

He sat up and slowly took her finger into his mouth, rolling his tongue around and around…

Manon’s pulse was racing and her lips parted, watching him. She enjoyed the teasing and games with Dorian. Once, they’d even managed to carry it on for a while before finally giving in to their desire.

This… This was not going to be one of those times. Especially not after he released her finger and ran his tongue through her mouth. And definitely not after he finished the kiss and said with a deep, raspy voice, “You’ve been my Queen for awhile now Manon. But it seems you didn’t know that. I’d be more than happy to try to convince you.” His eyes bore into her, flaming blue again, and she had no doubt hers were burning just as bright.

Dorian lifted her sweater off and she pushed up on her knees so he could pull her pants down. She reached for his but he stopped her. “Oh no, my Queen.”

He took her by the hips to hold her in place, then slid down underneath her, stopping when his face was between her thighs. The whole time he’d moved, his eyes had not left hers. Manon was almost panting with anticipation. He pulled her down so his tongue could reach her, but he just teased, barely grazing her entrance. Her entire body shuddered at the slight touch. When his fingers slid into her, finding her wet and warm, Dorian growled, “This isn’t from a bond.” She moaned her agreement and began moving against them.

She felt the full pressure of his tongue - finally! - as his fingers moved inside her, working in tandem with the motion of her hips. She wound her fingers through his hair and he moved his free hand up to caress her breast. With his real hands otherwise occupied, Dorian used his magic to hold her up, allowing her to be completely taken over by sensation.

Manon wanted this to last forever but also craved the release he was bringing her to. The rhythm he set with his tongue and fingers…his other hand brushing over her nipple… She moaned with each stroke, each lick.

She felt the warmth rising inside her. So close, she was so close now. Dorian felt it too as he curled his fingers a certain way - “Oh gods…” - and rubbed his tongue along a certain spot. Manon exploded, unable to breathe, arching her back and rocking her hips as the heat coursed through her. She was too overcome by the intensity of her orgasm to bother with something as trivial as breathing. When she began to come down from her high, her hands still clutching his head, she finally gasped in air.

 

* * *

 

 

Still using his magic to support her, Dorian pushed himself towards the head of the bed, then eased Manon down onto his waist. She immediately collapsed onto his chest, still trying to catch her breath. He hugged her close, letting her hair fall into his face.

After several moments, she adjusted her position to lay her head on his shoulder. He felt her smile as she said, “Alright. I believe you. I am your Queen.”

He laughed and asked, “Are you sure you don’t want more convincing?”

“Shit,” she muttered. She propped her head up to look at him. “You obviously misheard me Dorian.” She drew out his name, stressing her accent and making his heart skip a beat. “I said I did not believe you.” She gave him a mischievous grin.

He returned it as he brought his hand to his mouth and licked the fingers that had just been inside her. Her lips parted and he watched her eyes become dark, sensed her pulse speed up.

In an instant he had them rolled over so he knelt above her. He took off his shirt as Manon reached for his pants. When she pulled them down and released him, he saw her eyes wander down his body. She drew her bottom lip in between her teeth, then brought her eyes back up to meet his.

Using his magic, he took hold of her wrists and stretched them above her head. She twisted and arched her back, spreading her legs for him. “Manon…” He groaned her name, almost as a warning.

She smiled wickedly in reply, then purred, “Would you like me to command you my King?”

He smirked at her impatience and said, “At least give me a chance. I might know what I’m doing. And I intend to take my time doing it.”

Manon’s eyes flashed and she raised her hips towards him.

With a slowness he’d come to savor, Dorian guided himself into her. Her eyelids fluttered and she threw her head back.The sensation of being inside Manon, her replying moan… He didn’t think the slow restraint of that first, delicious thrust was something he’d be able to replicate. But he certainly planned to try.

He lifted her hips further off the bed, almost pulling himself out of her. As slowly as he could bear, he pushed deep inside her. She gasped and her eyes flew open. Dorian froze and asked, “Did I hurt you?”

“No… No. Don’t stop. Please… Again.”

Another thrust and her knees clenched around him. He moved inside her, unhurried, losing himself in the sensation, in the noises she was making. She rolled her hips against him, meeting his slow, steady pace. But seeing her writhe beneath him like that threatened to send him over the edge. Dorian dropped her hips and released his magical hold on her wrists. She immediately pulled him down on top of her and kissed him.

He reached a hand down between them, lightly stroking the spot where his tongue had recently been. Manon moaned into his mouth and dragged her nails down his back. She broke away from the kiss, panting, biting at his earlobe. He sped up the movement of his hand, and the long, deep thrusts inside her.

When Manon cried out, arching her back, he felt her tighten around him, each spasm drawing him closer and closer and closer… As she came, her iron nails shot out, scratching shallow lines up his back. He’d been so close already, but the pulse of pain drove him into a mind-numbing release of his own.

Breathing heavily into her ear, Dorian said, “So much for taking the edge off.”

Manon laughed and wrapped her arms tightly around him. “Did I hurt you?” She stretched to look around his shoulder and examine his back.

“No,” he said with a low laugh. “Not at all.” He rolled off and lay beside her, pulling a thick blanket over them. “If you’d like I can try to hold off on my healing magic.” She looked at him, confused. “So that I’m permanently marked as your mate.”

She snorted. “That’s your decision. I certainly don’t feel the need to visibly stake my claim to you.” She turned, kissed his cheek, and lay her head on his chest, her arm draped over him. “I am your Queen and you are my King.”

“Mmmmm,” he sighed contentedly, brushing his hand through her hair. “I miss hearing you call me Princeling.”

He twisted his head to see her close her eyes.

“I told you. I can still tell you’re rolling your eyes.”

Before she could respond, with a laugh or a smack he wasn’t sure, he said, “I love you Manon.” He tilted her head up and kissed her. He felt her mouth quirk into a smile and she pulled away.

“I love you too Dorian. Or is it King? Princeling? Mate? Perhaps… Errand boy who will now be at my beck and call?”

“All of the above, Witchling,” he answered with a laugh, rolling her back on top of him. “All of the above.”

 

* * *

 

 

Manon laced her hands together on his chest, resting her chin on them. “No ‘Queen’,” she said petulantly, playing into his game. “Perhaps this requires more convincing.”

In a rough voice, Dorian asked, “You thought we were done?”

Warmth and desire spread through her. She’d been wanting to try something with him for a while but had always held back. Now though… They were mates. Chosen, accepted, loved.

Holding his gaze, Manon extended a single iron nail and drew it lightly across his chest. Small beads of blood pooled along the length of the scratch. Dorian gasped. Manon smiled, sensing his reaction was not from pain. She slowly brought her finger to her mouth and licked his blood from her nail. She closed her eyes and sighed. His taste brought to mind a winter storm raging over the ocean. Power and ice and salt and wind. She opened her eyes to see him watching her, his own eyes dark with want.

“I’m far from done with you Princeling.”

He grinned. “Good.”

 

 

To be continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note - I’m using mostly Welsh (or Welsh-based) words for the Crochans, mainly because Rhiannon is a Welsh name.
> 
> Cariad is Welsh for love/dear/sweetheart, roughly pronounced - cah-ree-ahd.
> 
> Chymariad is based on the Welsh word chymar which means mate/peer/companion. The ch- sounds like the -ch in Bach, or the Scottish -ch in loch. So using that as a guide to the start of the word, it would be something like - ch-mah-ree-ahd.
> 
> Elyniad is based on the Welsh word elyn which is enemy/foe, roughly pronounced el-in-e-ahd.
> 
> These are from google translate so if anyone who is familiar with the Welsh language knows other meanings that might make these problematic, or better pronunciations (I’m awful at spelling out pronunciations), PLEASE let me know.
> 
> Aven (ah-ven in my head), came from a book (From Girl to Goddess) that includes a chapter on the Welsh tale, The Cauldron of Cerridwen. In it, the cauldron of the deep is also known as Aven.
> 
> Annabee is just a name I saw somewhere and thought it was cool.
> 
> All other names have come from Welsh name websites.
> 
> Again, please feel free to comment or message me about any of these.


	14. Distraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of new points of view this chapter. It returns to Manon and Dorian in the next one. Hope you like it! Comments are welcome and appreciated :)

At the sound from the hall, Fallon ran to open her door. No one was there. She’d been waiting for Manon or Dorian to come out so she could go see Banshee. The twists and turns from the wyvern cave to their rooms were forgotten last night as she’d been distracted. Not wanting to bother them, she’d been listening for their door since getting out of bed.

She turned to go back inside but noticed a small basket on the floor. Checking the hallway and finding no signs of who left it, she picked it up. The basket held bread, fruit, and all the makings for tea. A huge improvement to the food they’d been eating on the road. The warm, fresh bread alone set her mouth watering. Fallon tore into it, only finding the berry jam after she’d eaten most of the small loaf. She spread it on the remaining few bites, sighing as she chewed.

Much too late, she realized she should probably have checked the food for any poison. In fact, she should be a lot more suspicious of things than she was. _You idiot Fallon! And Sorrel left you behind to protect Manon!_ The bread quickly turned into a lump in her throat as she berated herself for failing in her duties.

But Manon had seemed to trust them. Aven was her grandmother, and Catrin had warmed up to them. Alastair was overwhelmingly friendly. Dorian had taken to him quickly. _Well they are both humans_ , she thought. Even if Fallon’s instincts had been telling her to be cautious, Manon’s opinion carried more weight.

 _That witchling with the white braids wasn’t very friendly_ , she thought, reminding herself that not everyone here would be so welcoming. The arrogant witch had touched a nerve in Fallon, referring to Manon as soft. That was the worst insult a Blackbeak could receive. Witches had been beaten for the slightest sign of weakness. And witches had been killed if they were labeled soft. She thought of Lin’s mother. Imogen’s. Her own.

 _Why so many of us_ , she wondered, realizing Manon’s mother had died at the hands of the Matron. Just as hers had died at the hands of her grandmother. _Why were so many of the Thirteen left without our mothers?_

She heard the door across the hall open and close. Fallon shot up and checked again.

But instead of Manon or Dorian, she found Aven.

The little old witch smiled sweetly. “Good morning witchling. Can I help you with something?”

“Oh, no. I thought Manon might be going to check on our wyverns. I’m afraid I didn’t pay attention last night and I’m not sure how to get back.”

Aven chuckled and said, “I can show you the way. I’m headed in that direction. I think those two would like some privacy anyway.”

Fallon smiled hesitantly, noticing the twinkle in the Crochan’s eyes but feeling uncomfortable about what she was insinuating. She knew Manon and Dorian were together. Happily so despite their recent disagreement. But it was still a bit strange to see her wing leader with a man. To Fallon’s knowledge, Manon had never been one to associate frequently with males, human or fae. Or females either for that matter. She assumed it happened even if she wasn’t aware of it. Before they’d been called back to the Ferian Gap, when they’d been sent on missions, witches would be on their own for months at a time. So who knew what she’d done then. But unlike Asterin and Faline, and others in the coven, Manon never spoke of those things, had never left the Omega or Morath for any kind of fun. So, while she liked Dorian very much, and was pleased to see her wing leader happy, Fallon still felt awkward, unsure how to react to it sometimes.

Aven was watching her curiously, then said, “Did you get the food I left? I was just speaking to Manon. We will have a small ceremony for your friend this evening. Will that suit you?”

She nodded and Aven gestured for her to follow, starting down the tunnel. Fallon appreciated that Aven didn’t force her to talk while they made their way to the wyvern cave. She hated trying to make small talk, even with someone as polite as Aven. Faline was the one for that. She could talk to anyone, come up with clever replies to questions, get people to do whatever she wanted. She huffed a little laugh. _A skill she perfected on me I think._

She missed her twin deeply. They usually managed to get missions together, only separating a few times over their years as members of the Thirteen. And those times had been difficult for her. Without Faline, Fallon found it harder to keep herself from the darkness. Although it was something that never really went away for her, Faline could distract her, listen to her when she felt like talking about it. Or, just be with her. When Sorrel had ordered her to stay behind, she’d almost objected. If it hadn’t been for Banshee’s lingering injury, she would have. But even so, Fallon wasn’t the type to disobey or cause trouble. Especially if she was the only one disobeying. Faline turned the bad behavior into a game that rarely got them reprimanded. But she’d been smart enough not to push things with their leaders. Asterin was an exception. But Sorrel and Manon didn’t take well to jokes and games. Vesta had always been the buffer, coming after Sorrel in the coven’s hierarchy. _And now she’s gone_ , Fallon thought, idly picking at her nails.

As with the other witches in the Thirteen, Vesta had been like an older sister to her and Faline, often provoking their behavior and encouraging mischief. They weren’t supposed to be friends. The Matron’s rules prohibited it, along with any other visible signs of emotion or weakness. But they’d worked their way around it in the lower ranks. It would have been impossible not to become friends with witches you’d spent most of your life with. The Matron was an idiot to think otherwise. She shook her head. Manon had been forced to maintain some semblance of order. But she only ever punished them when she had to, when others were watching. The Thirteen knew Manon was different from her grandmother, even if Manon hadn’t seen it herself until recently. But they also knew she was unable to fight back without risking their lives. And while they’d gladly have given their lives for Manon, they knew she would have fought them tooth and nail to prevent it.

But Manon had changed. Was changing. Some of it had to do with Dorian. His support allowed her to be more open with her feelings without fear of reprisal or shame. But Fallon and the others had noticed it happening months ago. The wyverns and their renewed ability to take to the skies had sent a shock wave through the witches, regardless of coven. Even the Yellowlegs. Though, those bitches didn’t deserve to return to the air, not when they treated their wyverns as little more than pack animals. Fallon’s normally subdued temper rose sharply at the memory of Iskra’s coven whipping their wyverns into submission before the war games that decided the Ironteeth Wing Leader. How anyone could treat an intelligent creature like that…

“Witchling?”

Fallon stopped and looked up. They’d reached the cave. “Shit,” she muttered. “Oh, excuse me.” She smiled apologetically at Aven. “It seems I didn’t pay attention again. I’m sorry.”

Aven smiled, “That’s ok. Catrin or Alastair can show you the way back. He is without patients at the moment so they will likely be in and out today. If I see them, I’ll have them bring extra lunch for you. Will that be alright?”

Fallon said, “Yes, thank you. Thank you for everything.”

“You’re very welcome witchling,” Aven said, patting her arm then turning to go.

“Aven?”

“Yes Fallon?”

“I’m… I don’t know if it will matter, but…” She hesitated. Unsure how to say what she suddenly felt the urge to say. “I’m sorry for all we’ve done to your people. It’s no excuse, but… I think if we’d been told… Taught differently… Things could have been different. Better.” Fallon shook her head and looked away, feeling stupid for offering such a poor apology.

“Witchling,” Aven said, taking her gently by the shoulders and waiting until Fallon met her eyes. “I know how badly the Ironteeth have been misled, as do many others here. Some feel it doesn’t absolve the violence between the clans. But some do, believing the only way we can move forward is through forgiveness.”

Before she could stop herself, Fallon asked, “And what do you believe?”

Aven sighed deeply. “Witches are like all living things - some good, some bad, many in between. I believe that there are some Ironteeth who would have hunted us regardless of their upbringing.” Iskra’s image floated through Fallon’s mind, along with her grandmother’s. “But I also believe that most would not have. Especially if they’d been given the choice of how to live. Given the opportunity to feel love and kindness. Or the freedom to feel sad.” Fallon looked away. Aven dropped her hands and said, “Forgiveness is not an easy thing. It takes time and effort. But I believe it is possible, even in this situation. Even after centuries of war and death.”

“How?” Fallon asked.

“I have hope witchling. Something my mother instilled in me from before I can remember,” she said with a sweet smile. “Hope that we can change and learn from past mistakes, but without the fear of being bold and making new ones. Hope that our love of friends and family can see us through difficult times. And hope that ultimately, regardless of how dark things may seem, the goodness in the world will conquer the bad. It may take time, but it’s worth fighting for.”

Aven pulled her into a hug. _My third hug_ , Fallon thought with a smile. _I can see where Manon gets it from_.

“Thank you,” Fallon whispered, unable to stop a couple of tears from escaping.

Aven stood back, nodded to her and said, “Whenever you’re ready to leave, ask Catrin. I will be back to your rooms this evening before dinner to collect you for Vesta’s ceremony.”

Fallon turned to find Catrin standing nearby. She didn’t know what the Crochan had heard. She hoped it wasn’t much as she reflexively scrubbed at her face, trying to remove signs of her tears. But Catrin’s sympathetic expression told her she shouldn’t have bothered hiding her emotions. She’d heard the entire exchange.

Smiling, Catrin said, “Come on witchling. Let’s check on that tail. You can tell us all about wyverns since we’d never even seen one before.”

Alastair came in from the other entrance, carrying two buckets. His beard covered his smile, but Fallon could hear it in his loud “Hello,” that carried across the cave. She laughed and followed Catrin over to help.

 

* * *

 

 

Annabee closed the book she’d been ordered to read and sighed. She was sick of studying, sick of these meaningless assignments given by Grandmother. Sick of being molded into something she didn’t want to be. Before her mother had died - _before she left_ , she corrected - Annabee had been spared the duties required of her bloodline. She’d been shielded from most of what her grandmother and mother did, only learning vague pieces of their daily work. But now that everything had fallen onto her shoulders… She glared at the stack of books next to her, mostly histories, but some on magic, philosophy, religion, politics.

“Gods,” she said, slumping back in her chair. She didn’t hate reading. In fact, she loved it. She just wanted to read about science and plants and animals. _Not this dry, boring shit that puts me to sleep. One more book about the monarchs of Erilea and my brain will explode_.

But as her grandmother’s new heir, she no longer had a choice about how she spent her time. What really pissed her off was the possibility that her grandmother might not even need an heir. If Aven was right - if her mother was right - Manon was going to become the world’s savior and Aven’s job would become obsolete. Annabee snorted at the thought. _Manon saving the world. What bullshit_. She paused, wishing she actually believed that it was bullshit. She knew differently, even if she would never admit it.

Suddenly in desperate need of fresh air, Annabee grabbed a pencil and sketchbook, and, reluctantly, the history book - _only in case Grandmother sees me_ \- and headed topside.

More Ironteeth wyvern patrols had been seen, but she’d be able to find a secluded spot to sit and draw. Those witches had stumbled upon Berwyn by dumb luck, surprising themselves as much as the villagers according to reports. That’s the only reason so many had been able to escape. Those who made it into the Maze told the council that they couldn’t be certain that the Ironteeth even knew they’d attacked a Crochan village. _Idiots_. The Ironteeth had no idea how extensive the Crochan settlements were. Above or below. No idea how many fighters they had. No idea what they were protecting. _What I will have to protect_.

As she neared the surface, she heard a loud snort echo from a cave just ahead of her. She slowed and peered around the corner. _Shit! The wyverns!_ Grandmother had deliberately not told her where they were being kept, knowing she’d sneak out to see them. Alastair, Catrin, and that nasty dark-haired Blackbeak came out from between the creatures. She bit back her desire to go look at the beasts. Her fingers itched to draw them, diagram their wings… _Gods, if I could ride one!_

“Annabee! You need to see these animals!” Alastair’s booming voice made her jump. She’d been distracted by the wyverns, forgetting to stay hidden.

The Blackbeak witch gave her a flat stare. _Still pissed for insulting her precious Manon_. She tried to smirk, but the thought of Manon only made her anger rise. Anger not at the Blackbeaks, but at her mother for leaving. At her grandmother for letting her go.

“This one has spidersilk in its wings - come see!”

She liked Alastair. He encouraged her interests and often sought her advice for new ideas on healing remedies and techniques. Their interactions had become less frequent and more clandestine now that she was training to replace her grandmother. But he hadn’t given them up. Catrin knew how hard this transition had been for her. So they’d done what they could to help her through it. Sighing, not wanting to hurt his feelings, Annabee forgot about going topside and made her way into the cave.

Catrin was smiling and chatting with the Blackbeak. Now that did piss her off. _Why is she being so friendly_ , Annabee thought? _These witches killed her best friend and she’s acting like they’re long lost family_. She narrowed her eyes at Catrin but Alastair pulled her over to look at the wings.

“Look at how it’s part of the skin. I can’t imagine how they got so much spidersilk.”

She knelt down to look more closely but the wyvern flicked his wing away from her and let out a low, deep growl, his head snaking around to glare at her. At its first movement, Annabee had jumped back defensively. But she held her ground, not wanting to appear too submissive to him.

“Whoa little guy,” Alastair bellowed. “Calm down. We just want to see your shiny wings.”

Annabee made her way back towards him slowly. “You must belong to the White Demon. Such a fearsome beast you are,” she cooed.

The wyvern tilted his head back and forth, staring at her. Studying her. He took a long inhale, scenting her. Annabee stared back, trying to keep the smile from her face. _He knows I’m related to his rider. Smart little thing_. Her thought was confirmed when he plopped down on the ground and stretched a wing out for her to look at, closing his eyes as if bored.

Alastair laughed and she did too. When she noticed the Blackbeak watching her, she forced her face into a scowl. But it was too late. The dark-haired witch merely smiled at her, not intimidated in the least. _Nice_ , she thought, bending down to look at the wing. _Even this wyvern is fiercer than me_.

“His name is Abraxos,” the witch said, coming to stand by her. Annabee ignored her, trying to figure out how they attached the spidersilk to the thin, leathery skin. It was… embedded somehow, maybe using magic?

“I think they used some type of adhesive during the grafting. It was a long recovery, but without the spidersilk, he lacked the strength to fly.”

Annabee turned and glared at the Blackbeak witch, hoping it would scare her off. Or just shut her up. But she was watching Abraxos, not her.

“He’d been chained as a bait beast until Manon rescued him. His teeth were rotting and they’d removed the spike from his tail. So she had them replaced.”

“Was I speaking to you? I don’t remember asking for your help.”

The witch frowned, her bright green eyes suddenly becoming dull and distant. As if she was fading back into herself. It happened quickly but was so pronounced that Annabee opened her mouth, about to apologize. But before she could, the young witch nodded, turned, and walked back to the other wyvern.

Catrin gave her a dirty look and followed the witch. Annabee didn’t care if she’d been rude. She didn’t owe the Blackbeaks anything. _Especially that one_ , she thought, scowling as she remembered the witch’s snarl the first time they’d met. She went back to the wing, touching it gently. She could see some of the scarring left from the skin and silk grafts, but it was faint. _Like I needed to be told his iron teeth were added_ , she huffed to herself. _Or that he’d been treated poorly_. His brown-black-green mottled skin was laced with scars. _Does she think I’m that stupid?_

“Annabee.”

She whirled to find Alastair standing behind her. He was pissed at her too. Annabee sighed, knowing she’d been an ass. But for him and Catrin to just side with the Blackbeak… She stared at him, hands on her hips, her face defiant to mask the shame.

“You know she just lost her friend right?”

“That’s not my problem Alastair. We lost people too.”

He nodded. “Yes, we did. But that doesn’t give you the right to be rude. You don’t need to be friends with them Annabee. But the least you could do is be civil. Especially when they are being kind. With very little effort I might point out.”

Putting his hand on her shoulder, he said, “I know this is hard for you. But there are greater concerns at the moment. We need their help. All of us, not just the Crochans.”

Yes, yes. She knew. Fate of the world and all that shit. She was so tired of hearing it. So tired of giving up things she loved. All for some greater good that felt so distant and unreal that she no longer cared about it. Especially after her mother had died. Why should she care about the world when hers had been taken from her?

Not bothering to reply - _What difference does it make?_ \- Annabee turned and headed towards the cave mouth leading outside. Before she left, she glanced behind her. The dark-haired Blackbeak was working on her wyvern’s claws, meticulous in her attention to the creature. The witch looked up, catching Annabee eyes on her. But after a couple of seconds, she returned to her work. Fighting back her growing shame, Annabee made her way outside, unable to push those sad, green eyes out of her mind.

 

* * *

 

 

Fallon continued cleaning and filing Banshee’s claws as Alastair and Catrin gathered their things to leave. She hadn’t asked for their help returning to her rooms. Honestly, she didn’t want to go back to them anyway, preferring to stay with her wyvern. She was lonely without Faline and the rest of the Thirteen. She wouldn’t bother Manon and Dorian with her troubles. So Banshee it was. The wyvern twisted her long neck around to nuzzle Fallon, making her smile.

Catrin came over just then. “They’re very affectionate.”

“Yes, with their riders. Or others they deem worthy,” Fallon said, gesturing to Catrin and her husband. The Crochan smiled. “They can be fierce when they need to be though. Abraxos is small but he’s the alpha of all the Ironteeth wyverns.”

“Your Banshee looks like she’d be good in a fight,” Alastair said, joining them.

“She is,” Fallon said, patting Banshee with pride. “She’s almost as fast as Abraxos, even though she’s much bigger than him.”

Catrin’s smile faded as she said, “I’m sorry for Annabee’s behavior Fallon. She has been through some difficult times recently. Unfortunately, her way of dealing with problems often involves taking it out on those around her. It doesn’t excuse the way she acts. But please don’t take it personally.”

Fallon nodded and turned back to work on the other claw.

“Her mother was sister to your coven leader,” Alastair said, trying to sound casual. But Fallon could hear the hurt in his voice, see the hurt on their faces.

She stood, unsure of how to respond in a way that didn’t sound trite. But after several moments of silence, she began to feel uncomfortable and finally just said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Something in their eyes made her go on. “You were friends with her mother?”

Catrin nodded, a smile on her face but the tears were forming in her eyes. “We grew up together. Annabee has always been like a daughter to me. But the past months have been… very hard. Rhiannon’s loss was… Well, it was complicated by other things. And then Annabee had to give up her dreams to take her mother’s place.”

Fallon furrowed her brow, wanting to ask questions but not wanting to pry or offend them. Instead, without thinking, she blurted, “I never knew my mother. She died giving birth to me and my twin.” Why had she said that? Catrin and Alastair frowned, saddened for her life without a mother to raise her. Fallon gave them a small smile, hoping to move the conversation forward, off of her. “It wasn’t so bad I think. I didn’t know her so I had no one to miss. Faline and I have each other.”

Catrin’s doleful expression told her the attempt hadn’t worked. _Why did you even say anything about it_ , she thought angrily. She appreciated their kindness, but she didn’t want their pity, their attention.

“Thank you for lunch,” she said awkwardly, heading around to the other side of Banshee. Not wanting to make eye contact and feel like more of an idiot, she kept her head down until they left, shaking out her saddle blankets.

She worked like that for almost an hour, busying herself with mundane tasks - grooming Abraxos, checking both harnesses for wear, making sure Banshee’s tail was healing properly. Anything to keep from thinking about how she felt, anything to keep from dwelling on the sadness that was creeping up on her. Her grief for Vesta. Her embarrassment for her conversation with Catrin and Alastair. Her stupidity for not asking for help back to her rooms. Her stupidity for not knowing _how_ to get back to her rooms. Her growing loneliness.

“What’s his name?”

Fallon jumped and spun, her iron teeth and nails shooting out.

Annabee raised her hands up defensively. “Whoa - I didn’t mean to startle you.”

 _Shit_ , Fallon thought. _This is all I need right now_. She turned her back to Annabee, hoping the witch would get the hint and leave her alone.

“It is a he, right? How do you even tell?”

Sighing heavily, Fallon turned around and said, “Her name is Banshee.”

“Hmmm,” she said, walking towards them. Slowly. As if not wanting to upset her wyvern. “That’s a better name than Abraxos.” The little wyvern huffed angrily from where he lay nearby. Annabee laughed. “No offense! I like your name too!” Under her breath she added, “Banshee is just better.”

Fallon couldn’t help her smile as Banshee gave Abraxos a haughty look. “You can tell the difference from the adornment on their heads. Bulls have larger spikes.” She watched Annabee look back and forth between the two animals, her face quickly becoming confused. “They’re not very noticeable. Here,” she walked over and pointed to the small protrusions behind the ears. “It can be hard to tell the difference between a large female and small male,” she added.

Annabee nodded. “Can I touch her?”

Fallon paused, studying the young Crochan. “Sure. She can tell that I trust you so she’ll stay calm.”

Annabee gave her a curious look then tentatively reached a hand out towards Banshee’s muzzle. Fallon smiled, thinking that if Faline had been here, she would have jumped or made a loud noise to scare Annabee, just as her finger touched the wyvern. But Banshee lowered her head and then stayed still, letting the witch get close to look at her skin and spikes. Fallon watched the tall, slender witch as her eyes widened in awe, countless questions likely forming in her head. Followed her fingers as they moved over Banshee’s muscles. She wondered what Catrin had meant about Annabee having to take her mother’s place. Give up her own dreams.

She suddenly realized she’d been staring at Annabee. Who was now staring back. Fallon quickly dropped her eyes and turned to refold her saddle blankets. She glanced back briefly and said, “I’m sorry about your mother. Catrin told me. I’m… sure it’s not easy having us here.” Turning back to her work, she cringed and thought, _What was that? You idiot_.

She could hear Annabee walking in a wide circle around Banshee. As she threw the last blanket on the pile, she turned to find her still examining the wyvern. Checking the splint still on her tail, running her slight, dark hand over the leathery wing, leaning in to look at the wyvern’s wine-colored skin.

Finally, Annabee made it to where Fallon was standing. She’d thought maybe she’d angered her by bringing up her mother, but the Crochan’s expression was… Kind.

“I’m sorry for being such an ass earlier. It’s… kind of a bad habit of mine.”

“You have a bad habit of being an ass? A bad habit is,” she shrugged, “biting your fingernails. You might be beyond bad habit,” Fallon said with a faint smile and raised eyebrow, surprising herself with the words. Faline teased and joked like that, not her. But something in the witchling’s face had emboldened her.

Annabee paused, then laughed. “And you might be right Blackbeak.”

Fallon’s smile widened. “Fallon.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m Annabee. But I suppose you were already told that,” she said, moving to sit against the cave wall. Fallon joined her and they sat in silence for a short while, watching the wyverns, who did the same.

“And don’t worry about being here. It’s not entirely unexpected.”

Fallon glanced at her. “What do you mean?”

“Crochan magic allows some of us to have visions. Grandmother knew Manon would come here. She just didn’t know exactly when. Or how.” Annabee turned to look at Fallon. “That’s the fun thing about prophetic visions,” she said dryly. “You get just enough information to mess with your life, but not enough detail to actually do much about it.”

Frowning, Fallon asked, “Did your mother have visions?” After a brief pause, she added, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t pry.”

Annabee watched Abraxos as he rolled over and stretched his wings. The underside sparkled, even without any light shining directly on them. She didn’t want to answer the question. Didn’t want to think about it. She’d bit back her typical, bitchy reply to any mention of her mother. But she knew her face gave her away. For some reason, she didn’t want to hurt Fallon’s feelings again. She couldn’t stop picturing how her green eyes had gone from alive to dead in the span of a second, Annabee’s words the sole cause. She turned and looked at Fallon, who sat still and quiet. Except for her fidgety thumbs. Her fingers were laced together and she rubbed the pads of her thumbs back and forth against one another.

“I guess you do know about bad habits,” Annabee said, lifting Fallon’s hand to look at her chewed nails.

The Blackbeak froze at her touch. Realizing what she’d just done, Annabee dropped Fallon’s hand and turned back to the wyverns. _Thank the gods they are here or this would be even more awkward_ , she thought, not knowing why she’d been so bold.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I forgot how different the clans are. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“It’s ok. We aren’t so different I think,” Fallon said softly. “Actually, we’re trying to change our ways a bit. Well, the Thirteen are.”

“That’s your coven?”

Fallon nodded. “We are Manon’s sentinels. All chosen by her. My twin Faline and I are the youngest.”

Annabee thought about this for a while. “So you only ever see your coven? What about your other family?” Quickly, she added, “I know Ironteeth don’t allow men to live with them.”

“Our mother died giving birth to us.” Fallon looked down at her hands. “Our grandmother is good friends with the Blackbeak Matron. So, she made certain we were trained well.”

She frowned. _Trained well? Not raised? Loved?_ She knew there were differences between the witches. Though, they were cultural more than anything. Physically, both Crochans and Ironteeth had the same ancestors – Fae and valg, later mixing with humans. Crochans even had iron teeth and nails, a gift from the Three-Faced Goddess to all witches. They just didn’t use them often, relying more on their magic for battle or intimidation. Crochans did receive more qualities from their Fae side than the Ironteeth. Their beauty – _though that’s debatable_ , Annabee thought - and their distinctive magic with its ability to override the subduing effects of the iron. _And_ , she thought with a pissy huff, _my new job_.

But none of those things were so big they couldn’t be overcome. They had more in common than not. That’s what Grandmother had always taught her. There were plenty of Crochans who felt the opposite though. And, she had to admit, with some good reason. The Ironteeth had spent centuries hunting her people, forcing them underground. Literally and figuratively. Sometimes Annabee fell easily into that way of thinking – blaming the Ironteeth for all their troubles. But she was never able to really believe it. One memory always stopped her from giving in to the stereotypes. A day when she was little that had changed her life. A day she could never forget, but one she had never been able to fully understand.

Banshee snorted, pulling Annabee from her thoughts and back to the present. Back to the young witch next to her. “I’m sorry you never knew your mother,” she finally said. Fallon gave her a small smile in thanks. Annabee turned away to hide her smirk. _The beauty thing is definitely wrong_ , she thought.

“May I ask a favor?” Fallon asked. She cringed faintly and added, “I’m sorry. It’s dumb…”

“Anything,” Annabee replied.

“Can you tell me how to get back to my rooms? I got distracted each time I came here…”

She laughed. “It took me over a week to learn my way through this part of the Maze. And that’s when I was paying attention,” she said smiling. “It would be dumb _not_ to ask for help.”

Fallon’s face fell just a bit and Annabee knew she’d said something wrong. “Wait – I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

 _Trained well_. Annabee’s face hardened as she suddenly understood what the words meant. Why Fallon had reacted so badly to her touch, to what she’d just said. “Asking for help isn’t a bad thing. And it’s nothing to apologize for,” she said quietly. “Not when I am being an ass again,” she added with a grin, hoping to get Fallon to smile in return.

After a pause, she said, “Bad habits die hard,” holding up her hand.

But Annabee ignored her raggedy nails. She was too busy staring at Fallon’s deep green eyes. Crochans had such bland eye colors – brown, hazel, gray. Her own brown eyes were unique only because they were offset by her darker brown skin and white hair. But Fallon’s were a shade of green she ’d never seen before. Almost iridescent. The way the light played off the tiniest flecks of gold and blue…

Fallon looked away and Annabee smiled at the witch’s shyness.

“My directions are awful and would get you lost. I’ll walk you. And I’ll try not to distract you,” Annabee said with a grin, standing and offering her hand.

Green eyes flashed to meet hers. Then, after a brief moment of hesitation, Fallon smiled and took her hand. Annabee pulled her up and led the way, her mind already busy thinking of ways to make the dark-haired witch smile like that again.


	15. Sacrifice

Dorian kissed Manon’s cheek then stood back as she and Fallon climbed onto Abraxos. They’d waited until full dark for this part of the ceremony, wanting to be sure they wouldn’t be seen by any Ironteeth that might be in the area. Aven had told them their sentries had seen several small patrols, but all of the nearby Crochan settlements had been emptied and moved below ground into the Maze. Although no Ironteeth had been in this area for more than a century, the Crochans had stayed prepared, knowing they’d be discovered eventually. The nearness of the patrols had worried Manon, and she’d asked Aven to have her people keep an eye out for the Thirteen. While he trusted her confidence that Sorrel and the others would find them, Dorian couldn’t help but notice her growing concern.

Abraxos pushed off and they were away, rising quickly into the night sky. Fallon held a small ceramic jar containing Vesta’s ashes. The Blackbeak tradition favored cremation when possible, so the witch’s ashes could be given to the winds and carried home. Dorian liked the sentiment, liked it more than the human tradition of burial, which seemed so much more…confining. And not just in the literal way. The witches honored their dead by freeing them, sending them on to whatever came next in their journey. He wondered if he would even have a body after using the wyrdkeys. If so, he wanted this. This freedom. He wasn’t sure if there was anything beyond death, but he didn’t think rotting in a box in the ground lent itself to any sort of enlightened afterlife. Or, any meaningful connection to the loved ones left behind.

Catrin and Alastair approached, pulling him out of his morbid thoughts. He and Manon had been surprised to see the pair waiting for them in the wyvern cave. They’d asked if they could attend and Manon had graciously accepted. Apparently Fallon had spent most of the day with them. Dorian smiled at how much progress they’d made in such a short amount of time. It was only with two people, but it was a start.

“Thank you both for coming,” he said, shaking their hands. “I know it wasn’t possible for us to take part in your ceremonies, but please know we grieve for those you lost.” Dorian was reminded of the small bodies that they’d found with Vesta. The air around him chilled as he tried to contain his anger.

Neither of them seemed to notice it though as they thanked him and made their way back inside. Aven however… “We need to work on that Dorian.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your magic. You’ve been gifted with an immense amount of raw magic, but you lack training.”

Annabee’s taunt floated through his head. _You might be powerful, but you’re poorly trained_. He eyed Aven curiously. “Is that something you can sense with your own magic then? Annabee said something similar. Mine allows me to gauge power but not necessarily skill. Though with you,” he said with a grin, “I can’t pick up anything.”

He knew by her smile that she wasn’t going to answer the unasked question about how much magic she possessed. Instead, she nodded and said, “I am able to sense that kind of detail. You could too. With proper training.”

He tilted his head, still grinning at the little old witch. “Are you offering?”

Aven chuckled. “I suppose I could, seeing as how you are my granddaughter’s mate.”

Dorian blushed slightly. When Aven had come to get them for Vesta’s ceremony, she’d known immediately that they’d accepted the cariad bond. They’d been waiting for her and when she came in, her normal smile had turned into something brilliant. She’d placed a hand on each of their shoulders, pulling them close together. “I’m so pleased that you accepted the bond,” she’d said. Dorian had laughed, dropping his head, cheeks red. Manon had simply smiled and taken his hand. Aven then took their joined hands and said “You are bonded. I offer my love and hope to you both.” As she’d said it, she bowed her head to each of them, making Dorian wonder if it had been some sort of Crochan blessing.

Now, she said, “In truth, I was planning to offer either way.” He raised an eyebrow in question. “You both need some instruction.”

Her eyes followed some movement behind him and he glanced back, a bit surprised to see Annabee standing in the cave entrance, half hidden by the brush and cover they used to camouflage it.

Turning back to Aven, he said quietly, “I haven’t found the time to tell Manon about her. That she’s Rhiannon’s daughter. When do you plan on introducing them?”

Aven sighed. “Actually, I was hoping to get your opinion on that.” She took a minute before continuing. “We know what happened to Rhiannon. Not all of the details. But we know of Manon’s involvement.” Her face tensed. “And… I suspect the involvement of others.”

Clearly Aven knew about the Matron and her influence over Manon.

“I would imagine that Manon blames herself though.”

Dorian nodded. “Yes, she does. Despite attempts to convince her otherwise. So, Annabee knows as well?”

“As much as I do, which isn’t a lot as I said. Prophetic visions run in our family unfortunately.”

“Visions? She had a vision?” He was stunned. He opened his mouth to speak, to ask more questions, but…

“I’d… I would rather wait until I can speak to Manon directly about this,” she said hesitantly. “Rhiannon knew what she risked by searching for Manon. Knew she wouldn’t survive. But she chose to sacrifice herself for a greater purpose…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “I’m sorry Dorian but I’d rather not get into this now. I’ve said too much as it is.” Frustrated by her constant evasions, he was about to argue when she held up her hand to stop him. “Yes, Manon needs to know. But I’d like her to hear it from me. There is a lot you both need to learn.”

He was about to disagree again but he noticed the sadness in her eyes. She was trying to disguise it with another smile and it wasn’t working. Manon was his priority, but he understood how difficult this must be for Aven. _And Annabee_ , he thought with a quick look behind him.

“And she deserves to know as well,” Aven said with a tired sigh.

“Does she blame Manon?” Dorian asked. He wanted to get this over with, but not if it meant the witchling would explode. Manon wasn’t fragile, but so many things had happened in such a short time… She wouldn’t defend her part in Rhiannon’s death under normal circumstances. But now. He wouldn’t risk letting her spiral into sadness again. She seemed always on the edge of it, regardless of her outward appearance. “I will keep them from meeting if there’s a chance it will turn ugly,” he said, giving Aven a meaningful look.

Aven frowned. “To some extent. But she mostly blames her mother for choosing to leave. And me for letting her go. And…” She paused, then said, “Her mother was my heir. Now that she is gone, Annabee must take her place. She never wanted that responsibility. I’d rather it not happen, but I can’t afford not to train her. So, she’s lost two things she loved. Not only her mother, but I’ve forced her to give up her dreams as well.”

Again, Dorian wanted to ask questions. But he knew he would get no answers. At least, not right now. He turned back to watch Annabee, his brow furrowed. The witchling was now sitting at the cave entrance. She either didn’t see him or was ignoring him. Probably the latter he thought, remembering their previous interactions. But… maybe they had more in common than either had realized.

He looked into the sky, searching for Manon and Fallon. They hadn’t told him how long they’d be airborne but he imagined they’d take their time. Both they and Abraxos had been cooped up. Any opportunity to fly would be impossible for them to resist. He turned to Aven. “Would I be able to sense if Manon was in danger? Through our bond?”

She was watching the dark sky as well. “Yes. You two may not have complete control over it yet. But your bond is very strong. That would be something you’d likely react to without thinking about it. Your magic would react.”

Feeling better about leaving, he said, “Would you mind waiting here for them? Please tell Manon I will meet them back at our rooms for dinner.”

She nodded, a curious expression on her face. Dorian turned and walked back towards the cave. Hoping to charm another witch.

 

* * *

 

 

 _Oh shit_ , Annabee thought, scrambling to her feet and heading back into the cave.

The King of Adarlan was heading straight towards her. And judging from the look on his face, he wanted to talk to her. She hurried inside, softly brushing her hand against Banshee’s wing as she passed. She didn’t hear him and was not going to turn around to see if he was following her. She felt stupid for running away. But she simply didn’t want to deal with him right now. She’d only come to watch the ceremony from afar. Hoping to quietly pay her respects to Fallon’s friend.

Seeing Manon again had been… difficult. Enraging actually. But she could never seem to direct all her fury at Manon. The Blackbeak may have triggered it, but Annabee’s feelings became focused elsewhere. On who she always ended up blaming. Her mother.

She shook her head, trying to stop herself from going down that dark path. Instead, she thought back to her earlier conversation with Fallon. At the dark-haired witch’s random mention of Dorian, Annabee had rolled her eyes in disdain. But Fallon had immediately defended him, then asked her why she didn’t like him. Annabee had managed to skirt the issue. She didn’t _dislike_ him necessarily. She didn’t know him well enough to say that yet. But she didn’t like him either. She suspected that had more to do with his connection to Manon than anything directly about him. But, she was barely willing to admit that to herself, let alone anyone else.

As she turned the corner into the tunnel that led to her rooms, she heard Dorian call behind her. “Annabee! Wait!”

 _Shit!_ He was closer than she’d thought. Unless she took off in a full run, which would be too humiliating, she couldn’t avoid him. So, she stopped, clenched her fists and turned around.

Dorian was running towards her, only just managing to stop before colliding with her. He threw his hands up defensively. “Sorry! I didn’t think you’d actually stop.” He smiled.

Annabee bit back a laugh. She’d sensed the cariad bond on him and Manon the moment she’d first seen them. Was he trying to gain her favor now that he knew she was Manon’s niece? Did he really think a smile was going to make her like him?

“What do you want,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Listen, we got off to a bad start. But there’s something I’d like to talk to you about. I was just speaking to your grandmother and…” He looked around them and asked, “Is there somewhere else we can go?”

She sensed his magic with her own. Nothing had changed. Other than him being able to access it again. He was still the same - powerful yet no idea how to use it. The bond though… It had grown much stronger. _That’s interesting_ , she thought. _I wonder if they even knew about it before coming here?_

For some reason, that thought made her sad. If they had not made it here to learn about their mating bond, what would have happened? The cariad bond was no guarantee for happiness. But it made the connection so much… more. The love so much stronger. Or so she’d always been told. Mate bonds were not terribly common among witches. And it certainly wasn’t necessary for a happy union. But it was something she’d not yet experienced. She wasn’t sure if she even wanted to. Her parents had been mates…

Dorian cleared his throat. Realizing she’d taken a long time without answering, she finally said, “This way.” He smiled again as she turned and headed toward her rooms. “Whatever you have to say I hope you say it quickly.”

As she opened her door, Annabee instantly regretted bringing him here. All of her birds and animals skittered around their cages when she flicked the lights on with her magic. She turned slowly, already frowning, expecting a barrage of dumb questions. Or worse, a self-satisfied smirk, as if by seeing where she lived he’d gained the upper hand.

He _was_ smiling. But instead of a cocky grin, Dorian’s smile was one of amazement. After a moment, he walked around the large room to study each creature - the ink black crow tethered to its perch, the nest of baby rabbits huddled within a blanket, the cage full of songbirds which had just fledged.

When he reached the far end he froze. “You have an owl.” He turned back to face her, an incredulous look on his face. “Just… An owl. Sitting on a shelf.”

It wasn’t a question, but she answered him anyway. “It lost an eye. It wouldn’t survive in the wild.”

“You heal injured animals.” He continued to make his way slowly around the room.

Again, not a question. But for some reason, Annabee felt compelled to answer him. She nodded to the crow, whose damaged wing was wrapped to hold it against its body. “Only the crow is hurt.” She wouldn’t admit that healing magic was still difficult for her. “The others were orphaned. I’ll release them once they’re old enough to live on their own.”

When he stopped to look at the diagrams of wings and skeletons that she’d drawn and hung on the wall, she said angrily, “What do you want? I have things to do.”

He turned to study her. She stared right back, arms crossed, unwilling to back down, unwilling to be the first to speak or look away.

Finally, he said, “I was hoping to speak to you about your mother.”

Annabee felt as though she’d been punched in the gut, breathless and nauseous at the same time. She turned away, not wanting to see the inevitable pity, not wanting to hear someone else tell her to get over it. Not wanting him to see the tears forming in her eyes. She growled, “Get out.”

“I know you don’t like me and that’s fine. But I think we have some things in common and I-”’

“You and I are nothing alike,” she said, whirling back to face him. She didn’t give a shit if he saw her cry. Saw her hands shaking. “And you know nothing about my mother.”

His face was calm, making her want to slap it. _How dare he? How dare Grandmother speak to him about her?_

“You’re right. I only know she had an impossible choice. Which left you without a mother and an enormous responsibility you never asked for,” he said quietly.

Annabee glared at him. “Let me guess. You’re going to lecture me about how I need to respect her choice. How if I really loved her, I would have supported her. How I shouldn’t be so selfish. How-”

“No,” he interrupted. “I’m not telling you any of that. I think you have a right to feel angry. And in no way does that mean you don’t love her. Anyone who says that is a fool. I can’t imagine she wanted to leave you. But that doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to feel the way you do.”

She stood there, unsure of what to say. No one had ever told her she was _allowed_ to be angry or feel betrayed. It had always come back to Rhiannon’s sacrifice. How she’d chosen to go. How the gods had guided her. How she couldn’t have turned her back on them. How Annabee just needed to understand…

“She had a vision and chose the gods over her own daughter,” she said, sitting down, suddenly deflated. She looked over at him as he sat too. “Who does that? Who does that to their own child?” She wiped her sleeve across her face. “I’m just so mad at her. She left me. I can’t even hate Manon. And believe me, I’ve tried.”

Why was she telling him this? Dorian sat there, quiet, watching her. She searched his face but found no sign of pity. He looked… angry.

“Don’t you dare excuse what Manon did,” Annabee said.

He shook his head. “I can’t,” he said simply. “She wouldn’t either. Though, I do think you need to talk to each other. There are details you both need to know.”

“Then why are you so angry?” She could feel the surge in his magic, unfocused, uncontrolled.

“I’m angry because I’m getting tired of the gods messing with people’s lives.”

Annabee frowned. “What do you care?”

His magic pulsed again. “I’ve lost one friend to the gods’ demands. Another is willing to die for them.” He paused before saying, “I think your mother and I have been forced into similar situations.”

She knew what he was referring to. The keys. But Grandmother had not given her the details of the prophecy yet. “You’ve already decided,” she said quietly. He didn’t seem surprised by her understanding.

“Impossible choice,” he said with a halfhearted shrug. “Do nothing and stay with those you love. But put them and countless others at risk.” His hand shot to his neck, fingers rubbing a line of white skin. When he noticed her watching, he dropped his arm and clasped his hands together on the table. But she’d felt his magic again. He was struggling to keep it under control

“Or,” he continued, his voice a little shaky, “sacrifice yourself to ensure they can live a better life. Even if it means you’ll never see them live it.”

Annabee didn’t know how to reply. He seemed sincere. Her magic was able to sense it in him. He wasn’t patronizing, wasn’t lecturing her on how she needed to feel. A lecture she’d heard too often.

A few moments passed then Dorian said, “But how could I possibly live with myself? How can I not risk my life if it meant evil might be defeated? I don’t want to leave her. I don’t want to leave any of my friends. But I have to try. For her. For them. Even if there’s no guarantee I’ll be successful. I have to try.”

Annabee was silent as she watched tears roll down his cheeks. She felt a pang of sorrow. For her rudeness earlier. For all of their sacrifices, past and yet to come. And then anger, for this shitty world and the demands of selfish gods.

"Listen,” he said, his voice growing harsh, but not directed towards her. “I don’t _want_ to die. All I want to do is protect those I love. Including the people who Erawan will kill and enslave if he remains alive.” He met her eyes. “Your mother likely felt the same way. And if the gods were involved…” He trailed off. “Your grandmother told me they can’t control us. But I don’t know… I wouldn’t put it past them to do anything and everything to accomplish their goal. I’ve seen too much to believe otherwise.”

“You’re not worried about offending them,” she asked derisively?

Dorian snorted a laugh. “Fuck the gods. I’m not doing any of this for them. We just happen to want the same thing - they want to go home, and I want them to leave.”

Annabee studied him for several minutes. Again, she sensed the truth of his words and feelings through her magic. She didn’t know what to think. Everyone had tried so hard to convince her not to be angry. Catrin, her grandmother, her friends. And no one had shared in her hatred for the gods. Grandmother didn’t give them much agency, true. But she was never willing to cross the line into contempt and disrespect.

Dorian stood and walked over to the crow. “Will it fly again?”

She joined him by the cage. “Yes. I had to bind the wing so he wouldn’t make the injury worse.” The dark bird tilted its head and released a loud, shrill CAW that made Dorian jump back. Annabee burst out laughing.

“You flinched too,” he said, a small smile forming on his lips.

Still laughing, she said, “Maybe. But you almost fell on your ass.”

Dorian turned to look at her. “So this is what you have to give up to become your grandmother’s heir?”

The smile dropped from her face. He might not be as bad as she’d thought, but it still annoyed her that he seemed to understand her so well. Finally, she said, “Yes. I’m not allowed to take any more in because I won’t have time for them.

He nodded. “I never really wanted to be king,” he said, turning back to the crow. “I enjoyed the privilege of my position while I was growing up. And there were things I wanted to change. But I never wanted the responsibility. Not really.”

“What happened?” she asked. “What changed?”

She noticed a shadow of pain cross his face before he smiled. “That would require more time to answer than we have right now. Let’s just say I was given an impossible choice. Several of them actually. And, I chose my friends.” He turned to face her. “I chose my people. I chose Manon.” He looked away. “That… especially that last one…,” he said, softly tapping the cage. “It doesn’t make my choice easy. But it’s the right one. And ultimately, I am doing it for them.” Meeting her eyes again, he said, “Not _to_ them. I can’t speak for your mother Annabee. But as someone who is basically facing the same decision… It’s _for_ them. And it’s because I love them. I know it doesn’t make it less painful. But, I think it is an important distinction.”

Annabee watched the crow shift back and forth on its perch. She needed to feed him. And the others. Reaching under its cage, she scooped some seeds and nuts from a container. Dorian watched it eat as she went around the room to feed and water the other animals. _The songbirds can be released soon_ , she thought. The rabbits and squirrels would take longer. And the crow. She might be able to draw out how long the fox kit stayed.

She didn’t want to dwell on all that he’d said. All that he’d shared with her. But there was no ignoring it. He’d assumed her relationship with her mother was a loving one. And he’d been right. After they’d lost her father, she and her mother had been almost inseparable. _Funny_ , she thought, feeling anything but amused. _Maybe if we’d hated each other her death wouldn’t have mattered_. The harshness of the words made her stop, guilt washing over her. Dorian looked up but he didn’t say anything, turning his attention back to the crow.

Annabee wiped away a few tears then went back to her work. She knew her mother loved her. Knew she really hadn’t had a choice. But it still hurt. She laughed a little to herself as she walked back towards Dorian. He was the first one to make her feel as though the hurt and anger were normal, acceptable. Allowed. It would take time for them to fade - she doubted they’d go away completely. But having someone tell her it was ok to feel the way she did eased the pain a little bit.

When she finished, she turned to Dorian and asked, “What did you want to be? Instead of a king?”

A wide smile spread across his face. Annabee couldn’t help but return it. “I always wanted to be a writer,” he said. “Adventure stories. With lots of drama and romance. The crazier the better.”

She laughed then asked, “Has Grandmother shown you the library we have at this end of the Maze? It’s not as extensive as the northern ones.” She shrugged. “But it’s not bad.”

“Libraries? Plural. You have libraries here?”

The expression on his face - a mix of disbelief and joy, with just a hint of outrage that he hadn’t been told about them. It made her laugh even harder. “Wow. Ok,” she said, moving him towards her door. “I can show you where it’s at but it’s in the opposite direction of your rooms. And,” she stopped walking, “it’s in a more populated area. So… it’s probably better for Grandmother to show you. Another time,” she said, apologetically.

His eyes were still wide but he understood. “That makes sense. And if I saw it I’d probably spend the night there.”

Annabee arched an eyebrow. “Really? After learning you have a cariad mate you’d spend the night reading?” She shook her head.

Dorian stood a little straighter, blushing. “I’m not talking about that with you. How old are you anyway?”

She grinned. “I’m older than you are.”

He rolled his eyes. “But what’s the equivalent in human years? You’re like a kid.”

Her grin disappeared and she glared at him. “I’m not a witchling. I’m…,” she paused, figuring out the numbers in her head. “If I were human I’d be in my early twenties. But really, it’s pointless. Witches are so long lived it’s stupid to compare.”

“I’m still not discussing that with you,” he said, turning to leave.

She laughed. “I didn’t want to _discuss_ it. I was simply pointing out that most new mates wouldn’t be thinking about books.” He was already out the door, his hands against his ears. _What a dork_ , she thought, still laughing. “I’ll be sure to mention it again though,” she called out. “I promise!”

Before he turned from her hallway, Dorian looked back and pointed at her. “I’m not above getting your grandmother involved.” Then he disappeared around the corner.

 _Shit_ , Annabee thought, turning back into her rooms, still smiling. She’d wanted to hate the Blackbeaks and the King. Fallon had somehow slipped through her defenses. And that had just opened them up to Dorian. _And what of Manon?_ She couldn’t bring herself to hate Manon. But she didn’t think she could ever like her. _I didn’t plan on liking him though_ , she thought with a sigh. _Or Fallon_.

She sat down at her table and stared at the books stacked there. She clicked her tongue and her owl flew over, landing on the table. He waddled over to her arm and climbed up to perch on her shoulder. Pushing the heavy, boring volumes away, she took out her sketchbook and reached for her pastels, trying to figure out which pigments she could combine to make a green that might come close to matching Fallon’s eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

When Dorian returned to the wyvern cave, he checked to see if Abraxos was back. He wasn’t, but Aven was now sitting at the cave entrance.

“Any sign of them?” he asked. He tried not to sound worried.

“They returned shortly after you left actually,” she said, standing to meet him. “But they forgot to hunt for the wyverns’ dinner. They may be a little while yet.” She laughed. “That little wyvern is spoiled rotten!”

Dorian laughed in agreement. “Yes. But he’s worth it.”

“Indeed,” Aven replied. “I’d actually never heard of a chymariad bond with a wyvern before. Though,” she looked up at him and shrugged. “I’d never seen a living wyvern before.”

“They’re extremely intelligent,” he said, squinting his eyes. A small, distant shape was closing in, difficult to see since it was only a shade or two lighter than the night sky. “Here they come.”

“Shall we begin tomorrow?”

“Begin what?” he asked. “Training me in magic? Or telling Manon about Annabee?”

“Training you both in magic. And telling you both everything,” she said with a sly smile.

As Abraxos neared them, he could see a large deer grasped in his claws. Dorian glanced down at her. “I suppose it’s useless for me to ask what that means, right?”

She chuckled. “Patience Dorian. Besides,” she said, patting his shoulder and winking at him. “You’re newly mated. We have a lot of work to do so the timing is a little unfortunate. But you two deserve one night to celebrate.”

Dorian’s cheeks grew hot and he cleared his throat. _There goes my defense against Annabee_ , he thought, Aven laughing at his discomfort.

“Don’t worry,” she said, wrapping an arm around him. She was so small she couldn’t reach the whole way around, her hand landing on his back. “I won’t tease you too much.”

Normally, he was not a shy person. But he so wanted Aven, and even Annabee, to like him. Just as he’d wanted the Thirteen and Abraxos to like him. As Abraxos landed in front of them, he caught Manon’s eyes. Her face lit up with a smile and he was flooded with warmth again. But not from embarassment. He grinned back, his heart racing, hands longing to hold her.

Still standing beside him with her arm around his waist, Aven smiled and said, “I am so very happy you found each other.”

 


	16. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came from a tumblr ask for "more manorian smut".  
> So, here you go. Short and sweet, just like the ask :)  
> (I've been super busy lately but I promise a new chapter is on its way!)  
> If you want to follow me on tumblr - https://rufousnmacska.tumblr.com/

Manon woke to a hand gently brushing hair from her face. Her eyes still closed, she smiled and said, “I’ve heard that it’s creepy to watch someone sleep Princeling.”

Dorian pulled her braid from where it lay across her back. “Mmmm,” he moaned. “I’m not watching you. I’m playing with your hair.”

Manon laughed, “That does not sound less creepy.” She opened her eyes to find him grinning at her. She ruffled his dark hair. “Yours will be as long as mine soon. Then you can play with your own. Perhaps some braids…”

He rolled onto his back, pulling her along to rest on top of him. “Only if I can practice braiding yours first,” he said, smirking.

With mock horror, she said, “My hair is the source of my power over you!” She took it from his hand and wiggled the ends in his face. “I’ll not have you practice anything on it!”

Laughing, he said, “So you figured out one of my weaknesses then?”

“Quite a while ago Princeling,” she said, then paused. “Wait. One weakness?”

His eyes shone with mischief. “I have several when it comes to you Witchling. Your smile. That I will do anything to see.” He brought her face to his and gently kissed the upturned corners of her lips. “Your skin. That I love to touch.” He lifted her chin and ran his nose along her collarbone. Manon sighed her approval. Dorian pulled back and gazed into her eyes. “Your eyes…that saved me.” He stretched and kissed each eyelid. “I can keep going if you like.”

She did want him to keep going, but she also liked their teasing. Running her fingers through his hair, she said “Don’t you want to know what mine are?”

“I have an idea,” he said, grinning and biting his bottom lip at the same time.

Manon smiled and traced his mouth with her fingertip. “Your lips. Yes,” she said, her voice betraying her growing desire. “And your eyes, of course.” Her finger brushed lightly over his long, dark lashes. “And…” She took one of Dorian’s hands. His hands that brought such pleasure. But also, gave her strength when she needed it, often with just a touch. She pulled it to her lips, taking one of his fingers into her mouth. A soft gasp escaped him. Releasing his finger, she said, “Would you like me to continue?”

He answered by undoing the tie at the end of her braid, and letting her hair fall over them. With both hands, he held her face, tilting it back so he could draw his full lips up her neck. When he reached her mouth, he paused, keeping a hair’s breadth away. “All of you Manon. That’s my weakness,” he said in a low voice. “And my strength.”

With a small smirk, Manon slid her hands down his forearms then up to his shoulders, her fingers tracing his sculpted muscles. When she ran them down his chest, Dorian gave in and closed the space between them, finally kissing her.

She moaned in protest when he broke away. But it was only to adjust their blankets so there was nothing between them. No longer sleeping outside meant no layers of clothing to keep warm. _Or no clothing at all_ , she thought smiling. As Dorian resumed kissing her, she moved herself down his torso. But he stopped her and sat up, letting her wrap her legs around his waist. He dipped his head under her hair, his lips gliding up her neck again until he reached her earlobe.

Manon moaned as he took hold of her, pulling her hips closer against him. Dorian lifted her slightly, letting Manon position herself. And when his hands released their grip, she sank down onto him. Her head tilted back as she gasped, too overcome by the feel of him inside her to notice her iron nails slip out. She loved this moment, that sweet sensation of being completely filled by him, his strong arms clutching her to him. Slowly, she began to move, her own arms clasped around his neck, fingers grabbing his hair.

He was still covered by hers as he whispered, “My Queen,” in her ear with each breath, each thrust.

Manon dragged a single nail along his jaw, smiling as he groaned loudly. “You are my King, Dorian,” she purred.

He untangled himself from her hair and met her eyes, blue flame meeting her gold. Holding her by the waist so he remained inside her, he flipped them over.

She cried out as he pushed deeper. Again and again. Grasping his hand she pressed it down between them and he smiled as he realized what she wanted. Dorian barely had to touch her as the next thrust sent her over the edge. Manon arched her back, tightened her legs around him, wanting to feel more of him, all of him, losing herself as the intense heat spread throughout her body.

As her orgasm dissipated, she continued moving against him, her hands running up and down his muscled back. purring his name into his ear. She knew he loved the way she said his name. _Another weakness_ , she thought, licking his ear. She couldn’t be smug about it though. Dorian was her weakness just as she was his. And he was her strength too.

“My mate, my King…”

The slight touch of her nails in his skin was all it took. Dorian called out her name as she clutched him close to her, savoring the feel of him coming inside her.

Moments later, Dorian rolled over, back to where they’d started, her on top of his chest. She propped her chin on her hand, watching as his eyes fluttered shut. “You’re not going to fall asleep on me are you?”

“You’re on me Witchling,” he said, still trying to catch his breath.

Manon rolled her eyes. “Your jokes. Definitely not a weakness…,” she trailed off, trying to sound annoyed.

“You love it,” Dorian said, reaching up to kiss the tip of her nose.


	17. Unmasked

Manon’s eyes shot open and she jerked upright, gasping for breath. She glanced around anxiously, slowly remembering where she was. In the underground tunnels the Crochans had inhabited for hundreds of years. Not deep within the mountain at the Ferian Gap. Dorian was asleep next to her, unaware of her nightmare. Wiping the sweat from her face, she eased herself off of the bed. As she headed to the washroom, she checked Dorian’s watch. Almost 3:30. _Gods_ , she thought with a heavy sigh. _It’s too early and too late at the same time_.

After splashing water on her face, Manon studied her reflection in the mirror. She’d lost weight. Not just from the travel rations they’d relied on before finding Berwyn. She’d been under so much stress recently. There had been moments when she thought she would fall apart if one more thing happened. And yet other moments when she’d almost laughed, punch drunk and wondering what fresh hell awaited her the next day. Her lips were slightly chapped. And a little swollen she now noticed, running her finger over them. That made her smile though, realizing the past weeks hadn’t been all bad. She had Dorian. And they’d found the Crochans. A grandmother she never knew existed. A niece...

She was going to meet Rhiannon’s daughter in a few hours. After dinner last night, Dorian had told her about the vision that had prompted her sister’s search. She’d sensed his hope, had seen it in his eyes. He’d thought the revelation would lessen her guilt, but he’d been wrong. If anything, the news had made her feel worse. That Rhiannon had acted upon a vision didn’t change Manon’s role in her death. She’d still killed her sister.

Staring into her own eyes, gold sparkling in the soft, magical light, she tried to forget the images that had awakened her. She’d dreamed of Rhiannon. Dreamed that it had been her own hands, not those of the Yellowlegs, inflicting the horrific wounds her sister had worn that day in the Omega. Manon hadn’t witnessed the beatings, but little had been left to the imagination. The Yellowlegs underlings had been brutal. And thorough.

A thought burst into her head. A question she’d never considered before. What would have happened if she had been ordered to administer the torture? Would things have ended differently if Rhiannon had been able to tell her the truth right away? Would Manon have even believed her? But the question that supplanted the others, quickly taking root in her mind… Would she have obeyed in the first place? _The truth_ , she thought, dropping her head and turning away, unable to look at herself. _The truth is… I would have_.

_Of course you would have obeyed. You killed her. What makes you think you wouldn’t have tortured her? You are a monster._

Manon took a shaky breath then made a split-second decision, returning to the bedroom. Dorian was still asleep but she didn’t hesitate to wake him. He sat up quickly, snapping a light on with his magic. “What? What’s happening?” When he found her face, he understood.

He laid back down and opened up the blankets, nodding for her to join him. “Come here.” When she’d settled against his chest and his arms were wrapped around her, he asked, “What happened? Was it a dream? Or the voice?” Shame washed over her and for a fleeting moment she wished she’d never told him about the voice. Sensing her feelings, he pulled her tighter. “I want to help Witchling.”

“Both,” she said finally. “Rhiannon had been tortured before...” She shook her head, unwilling to end the sentence. “In my dream I was the one who’d done it. And I can’t… I’m not sure…”

“You wonder if you would have followed the orders. If you’d been told to torture her,” he finished.

She nodded. If anyone could understand her doubts, it was Dorian. He had the same uncertainty when it came to his time spent under the control of a valg prince. And while they each felt confident telling the other those actions weren’t entirely their fault, neither could apply that same logic to themselves.

“I know I was in an impossible position. The Matron was threatening me and my coven. In front of the entire clan. But…” She trailed off. Logic and reason never seemed to make a dent in the guilt she felt from killing Rhiannon. Just then, another wave of hate-filled words rang through her head. “I can’t make it stop,” she whispered.

 _Then listen to me instead_ , he sent. _I love you Manon. You are good, and strong, and loved. Don’t listen to it. Listen to me_.

Dorian repeated the words like a mantra, over and over until the other voice eventually faded. It felt like an hour had passed but she had no idea for sure. Twisting around to face him, still in his arms, Manon put her hand on his cheek. “Thank you.”

He smiled and turned his head to kiss the palm of her hand. “Anything you need.” He brushed back her hair and said, “We can’t change our past Manon. But we can use it to draw a line.” He gave her a pointed look as he repeated words she’d once told him. “Use it to move forward. Make changes for the better.”

“Yes but that doesn’t help me with what I have to do today.”

“No,” he agreed. “You can’t make them forgive you. But they don’t really know you. Or what you’ve endured. They don’t know the circumstances of Rhiannon’s death. Maybe that knowledge will hasten their forgiveness, maybe not. Either way, I think talking will help.” He kissed her cheek. “And I think once Annabee gets to know you, the real you and not the reputation, the you behind the mask… That will make a difference.”

Dorian tried to stifle a yawn. “You can shut the light off,” she said. “I’ll be ok.” He raised an eyebrow, not believing her. Mirroring his expression, she said, “It’s late Princeling. I need to sleep. Besides, there’s nothing more to be done about it now.” He still looked skeptical so she closed her eyes and turned around so her back was against him, ending the matter. She heard him yawn again and smiled as he turned out the light.

Within minutes Dorian was sleeping again. Listening to his deep breathing, Manon thought she might actually get some rest too. But, as if that thought was an invitation, the reason she’d been awake in the first place pushed its way back in. The question she hadn’t been able to answer. Would she have tortured Rhiannon if ordered? She knew Dorian was right. She couldn’t change her past. And more importantly, it seemed pointless to speculate about something that had never even happened. Still, fading images from her nightmare continued to float through her head, slowly mixing with real memories of that day in the Omega. The Matron’s veiled threats. The evil glee Manon had seen in her eyes, not realizing at the time what the look had signified. Rhiannon’s bruised and broken body. Her words. Calling Manon a murderer, a monster made from birth. Goading her. The other witches calling for blood. All of them hounding her, pushing her to do it.

She’d always followed orders. Had always tried to please the Matron. To the point of doling out the same twisted forms of punishment the Matron favored. _Especially when that bitch was watching_. The thought seemed to come out of nowhere, but it made her realize something. She had punished the Thirteen, yes. But it had only ever been when she’d had to. When the threat of something worse loomed overhead. When they were at Blackbeak Keep, or the Omega. When others were present. The Matron or her minions. A wave of shame washed over her as she remembered how close she’d come to exiling Asterin. To killing her. _I was close_ , she thought. _But I didn’t do it_.

Dorian’s arm was still around her and she shifted to lay her hand atop his. Maybe she would have disobeyed. Maybe that would have been the catalyst for her leaving instead of Asterin’s failed execution. If nothing else, maybe Rhiannon would have been able to tell her about their connection… Manon wasn’t sure that she’d have believed her right away. But she was sure it would have given her pause. It would have seeded her mind with doubts. _Well, more doubts_. With hindsight, she could see that she’d already been on her way to discovering her true self. _No,_ she corrected _, acknowledging my true self_. The self beneath the mask.

The reputation she’d built wasn’t baseless. Manon knew she wasn’t innocent. Far from it. But… She had to admit it contained its fair share of… exaggerations. She was lethal and fearsome. But also loyal. And... _There were times I disobeyed_ , she thought, remembering Asterin and Abraxos. Her certainty grew as she felt Dorian’s chest rise and fall against her back. _Times when it was right for me to disobey_. She was not evil. She was not immoral. She was not the Matron. Manon tensed, expecting to hear the dark voice in her head. But before it could surface, she copied what Dorian had done, repeating those words – _not the matron_ – over and over again until she finally lost herself to sleep.

 

Aven joined them again for breakfast that morning. Upon her arrival, Manon felt odd. She supposed it was nerves, anxiety over knowing, and also not knowing, what was to come. Aven was kind, but thankfully, also blunt, not drawing out what she’d come to talk to them about.

“I’m sure Dorian shared what he and I discussed last night,” she said. Though she maintained her ever present smile, it didn’t reach her eyes. “Rhiannon was a seer. Her visions were often prophetic, but sometimes she saw into the past.” She narrowed her eyes as she continued. “It runs in our family actually. Have you had them Manon?”

“Once. I think.” She glanced towards Dorian. “But I wasn’t aware of what was happening.”

“It wasn’t a vision of the future or past,” Dorian said. “It was more like… You became aware of things you said you had no knowledge of. You fell into a trance, then said we were all connected. We all had a part to play.”

They both turned to Aven, expecting an explanation. But the little old witch merely shrugged. “Well, it can skip generations. If you were a true seer you’d know it. You’d be sure.” Then, as if the topic of Manon’s vision was closed, she began to pour more tea for each of them.

 _She knows more than she’s letting on_ , Dorian sent her. _Any time she can’t change the subject, she claims ignorance_.

Manon agreed, and told him so. But she didn’t think Aven was acting out of malice. _She doesn’t want to scare us off,_ she thought, sharing it with Dorian. _She’s giving us bits and pieces when she thinks we can handle it_. She caught Dorian’s nod from the corner of her eye, but before she could think on it more, Aven continued.

“She spared me many details of what she saw, but Rhiannon knew what would happen if she searched for you. She knew she would not return. She said she would die by your hand…”

Manon stopped listening, stopped hearing anything. She was back in the Omega, crouching above Rhiannon, dagger in her hand, dripping with blue blood, the room ringing with cries of death and bloodlust-

“Manon. Look at me.”

Aven’s voice was firm and commanding, pulling her back to the here and now. “Rhiannon knew you would be the one to end her suffering. Those were the words she used.”

Manon stared into Aven’s dark brown eyes. “Suffering,” she muttered. “She’d been… beaten. Before… Before my grandmother…“ Manon stopped and looked away. She felt Dorian’s hand on her back. Heard him speaking to Aven. She only caught a few words. Matron. Punishment. Petrah. Closing her eyes, she shut them out, fixating on the many questions that came rushing through her mind. How could Rhiannon have left her family, willingly going to her death? Had she let herself be captured? What possible reason could have led her to do it? Why?

Noticing the silence around her, Manon looked up to find Dorian and Aven watching her. She had so many questions but could only ask, “Why?”

“Oh witchling,” Aven said softly, tears rolling slowly down her cheeks. She reached across the table and took Manon’s hands into her own. “I wish I had a good answer to that. Something that would take away all of your pain and guilt. Something that would have granted me a life with both of my granddaughters. Together.”

Dorian straightened and said, “Nehemiah.” He turned to Manon. “The gods sent Rhiannon the vision, like Nehemiah…” He kept his face neutral but Manon heard the hint of disgust in his voice. “She was told she needed to sacrifice herself to get you to act.”

Manon remembered the lovely, regal woman from the witch mirror. Elena had given her instructions to do whatever was necessary to push Dorian or Aelin into action against Erawan. As a result, the Eyllwe princess had arranged her own death to provoke Aelin.

Aven nodded to Dorian. “That sounds likely. As I said, Rhiannon did not share all of the details. But she went convinced that it was the only way to bring Manon home.” Then, to Manon directly, she said, “To prepare you for what is to come.”

No longer able to mask his anger, Dorian asked, “And what the hell does that mean? ‘What’s to come’?”

But Manon thought she knew. “The wyrdkey. We are all connected,” she whispered. Dorian turned abruptly to look at her. “It is here.”

“Yes,” Aven said simply.

She and Dorian had both suspected it was here, _hoped_ it was here. Gambled everything that it was here. And though Aven had all but confirmed it by things she’d said, for some reason, hearing it spoken aloud, so matter-of-fact… Manon felt a strange chill creep over her and she glanced at Dorian. He was trying to contain his anger, and subsequently his magic. She took hold of his hand and he seemed to calm.

“We all have a part,” Manon said, squeezing his hand. She turned to Aven, giving her a hard but not unfriendly look. “But I suspect this is not the time to learn what our roles are. Yes?”

Aven smiled, dipping her head in confirmation.

Manon felt the air around them get slightly colder. _It’s ok Dorian. I trust her. And she’s right. Annabee is waiting for us._ He turned to face her, staring into her eyes, as if trying to decide if things were in fact ok. She smiled and nodded once. He released a breath and pulled her hand to his lips. Her smile had felt fake. Had been fake, a brave front she was putting on for the benefit of all of them. But with his kiss, she felt a surge of love, and admiration, and respect. And strength. As he pulled away, she touched Dorian’s cheek, returning her love for him.

Then, turning back to Aven, Manon said, “I think I should meet Annabee.”  

Minutes later, they were in Aven’s sitting room. She’d gone down the hall to fetch Annabee, leaving Manon and Dorian alone. Silently, they both studied the space around them. A large desk, overflowing with books and papers, dominated a corner of the room. Sketches of landscapes and people covered the walls to either side of it. The stone wall opposite the desk was lined with wooden book shelves, filled with volumes of varying ages, as made obvious by their state of disrepair. Dorian was doing his best to remain seated next to her. But his eyes kept moving back to the shelves, his head tilting to one side in order to read any titles that were visible.

“I give you permission to go look at them,” she said, hoping to distract herself while they waited.

He quickly turned back to her, a sheepish expression flashing across his face. “No, no. I’m just…,” he trailed off. “You _give_ me _permission_?”

With a sharp tone and sharper grin, she asked, “Am I not your Queen?”

He watched her through narrowed eyes, a satisfied smirk spreading across his face. He leaned closer to her and opened his mouth to say something when the door opened. They both flinched, having forgotten their surroundings and the reason they were here.

Manon rose, unsure of how to act in this moment, forcing her hands to remain still at her sides. She hated feeling this way. So uncertain, so unlike herself. But as Aven slowly came inside, Manon made the decision to let it go. She needed them to see the real her. Wanted them to see the real her. If that meant seeing her vulnerable and exposed... So be it. She didn’t like it. But she could get through it. Sensing Dorian standing behind her, she slipped her hand around her back and he grasped it tightly.

Aven stepped aside, revealing a tall, slender witchling, her hair the same brilliant shade of white as Manon’s. Dorian had been right. The witchling looked like her, in the way close relatives often do. But what she hadn’t expected, what caused her to gasp in disbelief, was that the witchling looked familiar for reasons other than their relatedness.

Manon reached for the chair to steady herself, suddenly overcome by an urge to flee. Or fight. Something, anything, to use up the adrenaline coursing through her. It took what felt like minutes for her to remember the Matron was not here. Did not know what she had done. Was not going to punish her. Dorian moved to stand next to her but all of her attention was on the witchling. _Annabee_ , she thought shaking her head, understanding building inside her. _Little Bee_.

She must have said it aloud. The witchling’s steely expression vanished, replaced by confusion. “You… You remember me?” she asked softly.

Dorian and Aven looked rapidly back and forth between them. “You know each other?” Dorian asked.

Manon sat down, no longer able to stand. How was this possible? _This_ witchling was her niece. What were the chances?! They continued to stare at each other.

When she didn’t answer him, Dorian turned to Annabee. “What is going on?”

Annabee looked at Aven. “I didn’t think she’d remember… She was there Grandmother. The day my father was killed.” All eyes fell on Manon. “She was the one who helped me escape.”

The room fell deathly silent. Manon looked at Dorian and almost laughed. Almost sobbed. _These fucking gods_ , she thought. _I don’t know how much more I can take Dorian_. Her hand was shaking and he grabbed it.

 _Manon. You’re the strongest person I know_.

He held her gaze for several moments, long enough for her to regain some semblance of control, then he asked, “Can you tell us what happened?”

Manon turned back to look at Annabee. She was met with gorgeous, coppery brown eyes. Wary, but not hateful. Not accusatory. Not what she’d expected. The young witch seemed genuinely surprised that Manon had remembered her. Manon shook her head in wonder. How could she _not_ remember the witchling? It had been over thirty years ago, but Manon remembered as if it were yesterday. She’d been assigned to the southern corner of Terrasen, near Perranth, sent to hunt Crochans.

Annabee didn’t look as though she was going to speak about it, so Manon cleared her throat and began.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 Each day was the same. Manon woke early, trained with her sword or knives, decided on a section of the territory to search, and then returned to camp empty-handed. She didn’t expect to find any Crochans here. In fact, they were getting harder and harder to find, regardless of where the Blackbeaks were sent. Mother Blackbeak was becoming increasingly irate at the lack of trophies brought back by the coven. Manon wasn’t terribly concerned. Her previous six month mission had yielded two Crochan kills. Old witches who looked as though they wouldn’t last much longer. Some Crochans seemed to let themselves age after a certain point. She suspected it had more to do with the eventual disenchantment of immortality than a desire to blend in amongst the humans. While it had technically been a successful hunt, it had done nothing to distinguish Manon in her grandmother’s eyes. It had bought her time though. If she found no Crochans here, she could return home without too many questions. Without severe punishment at least.

Oakwald had never intrigued Manon the way it did some of her coven. But, the newly crowned King of Adarlan was making advances on the forest, threatening the remaining Fae and other magical creatures. He was very young, having gained the throne after the short illness that took his father. Mother Blackbeak hadn’t spared much thought for him though, saying he was nothing for them to worry about. Manon had held her tongue, not offering her reasons to disagree with the decision to ignore the King. It wasn’t her place. Yet. When the title of Matron was passed to her, she would revisit the Blackbeak stance on Adarlan.

Today, in need of supplies, she made her way into Perranth. Not wanting to attract too much attention, she left her broom hidden back in camp, walking the few miles to the village. Her red cloak would draw eyes of course. Perhaps even lure in a Crochan. But the walk would do her good.

She arrived at the town square around mid-morning. It was a market day, vendors lining the main streets selling food, crafts, clothing, all manner of goods. While making her way through the crowds, Manon kept her senses attuned for signs of any witches. But it was mostly just habit. Instinct. As she started down a row that included a blacksmith selling knives, she decided to take her time and enjoy a break from the past few weeks of fruitless searching.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Annabee pulled her father through the streets, anxious to see everything. She was finally old enough to accompany him to Perranth for medicines and other healing supplies. And after a journey that took two days, she wasn’t going to miss a thing.

They’d arrived the evening before, too late to go into the town. So, they’d gone straight to Auntie Silene’s house, her father’s great aunt who lived just outside of Perranth. Annabee had never met Silene before, but she’d heard all kinds of stories about her. The little old witch had hair almost as white as her own. But unlike hers, Silene’s had strands of gray, marking it as a sign of age. Still, it was the closest thing to her hair that Annabee had ever seen.

Father had spent the morning buying everything he needed to take back to Berwyn. He’d promised they could take the rest of the day doing whatever she wanted. First, she wanted to go see the animals for sale. Kittens and puppies, but also chickens and goats and pigs. She knew she couldn’t take any back home. And they had all those animals in Berwyn. But she wanted to check if there were different breeds here, ones she’d never seen before. After that, she wanted to get pastries from the bakery they’d passed. The chocolate cupcakes in the front window had made her mouth water. Then, she wanted to watch the puppet show that was setting up in the main square. Father had laughed, saying he couldn’t have planned a better day.

As they waited in line at the bakery, Annabee kept staring out the window, watching all the people go by. Perranth was a lot bigger than Berwyn. She wondered if any passersby were witches. Auntie Silene said there were some Crochans in this part of Terrasen, but they stayed well hidden. The King of Terrasen was a friend to the Crochans. But the Ironteeth clans weren’t. And they didn’t adhere to borders. Which was why they had the Maze on the other side of the mountains. The farther Crochans lived from the Wastes, the greater the risk of being found. But Grandmother had said each witch had to choose. They couldn’t be forced to live in the Maze or the topside villages nearest the Wastes.

A couple stood from a little table just outside the bakery so Annabee ran out to claim it, making sure Father saw her. As she sat, a flash of bright red caught her eye. She turned to see a tall woman walking down the street, her red cape fluttering behind her as she moved. Annabee knew it was a Crochan cape and almost ran after the witch. But she held back, curious about why the witch would wear it so brazenly. When she stopped at a food vendor, the witch pushed back her hood and Annabee gasped. A pure white braid was piled in the fallen fabric. The witch pulled it around to fall down her chest. Annabee watched, breathless and wide eyed, as the beautiful witch made her way down the street, disappearing around a corner.

When her father came out, he surprised her with a cup of hot chocolate to go with her cupcake. Annabee told him about the witch in the red cape and he stood and looked around, but she was gone. Biting into the cupcake and getting frosting on her nose, she forgot about the witch, too intent on the delicious sweet.

After the bakery, they made their way to the square. Kids were running from all directions, jostling to get seats close to the stage. But Annabee stayed still, holding Father’s hand. They found a bench towards the back, and he made sure she was able to see.

As they waited for the puppet show to begin, she felt Father stiffen next to her and he took hold of her hand. She looked up to see him staring over her head. He looked like he was trying very hard not to react, but she could tell something was very wrong. Annabee turned slowly to see what was there, but Father squeezed her hand hard, making her jump and look back to him.

He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “I need for you to go back to Auntie Silene’s house sweetheart. Can you remember the way?”

She nodded, terror flooding her little body, tears filling her eyes.

“It’s ok Little Bee,” he said, rubbing her back. “I think there might be an Ironteeth witch nearby. I need you to go back to Auntie Silene’s. I will too but I’ll take a different road. Just like we talked about. Ok?”

She nodded again. The certainty in his voice made her fear subside a little. He kissed the top of her head as she stood and she began walking out of the square. Annabee knew not to run, not to call attention to herself. But it took all of her courage not to do it anyway. She hadn’t seen an Ironteeth witch in the square, so she hoped Father was mistaken. 

When she turned down a side street that they’d taken on their way into the town, she heard a faint commotion from the square. Annabee froze, not sure if she should run, or turn to see where Father was. She decided to go back, but she did it quietly, peeking around the corner of a building to look into the square.

At the far end of the space, she saw Father disappear down a narrow street, a fearsome looking woman following closely behind. Annabee could just barely make out a yellow band around the witch’s head. She shrank back, feeling like she might be sick. A Yellowlegs witch. After Father. And then she would come after her.

She turned and ran back down the street, veering off between two buildings to vomit. She fell to her knees, landing in the mess, her hands shaking. What was she going to do? Father told her to run but what if he needed help?

The witch in the red cape.

Where had she gone? Annabee wiped the tears from her face and stood, turning in a circle trying to think of where to go, where to look. She ran, taking side streets that skirted the square but would get her to where Father had disappeared.

It felt like forever, but minutes later, after racing though crowds and not seeing the red cape, Annabee reached the street she’d seen her Father run down. She glanced down an alley as she ran past and then skidded to a stop. Turning back, she peered around the corner to see the Yellowlegs witch kneeling over a body. The witch raised her arm, a short sword shining in her hand. As the sword came down, Annabee opened her mouth. But a hand came from behind and covered her face, pulling her back before she could scream.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 Manon had seen the Yellowlegs bitch skulking around the market and decided to steer clear of her. She thought the witch’s name was Iskra. But she wasn’t sure. She never put much effort into learning the names of the Yellowlegs. They were so far beneath her and the Thirteen that she simply didn’t want to waste her time on them. So, she’d chosen to ignore the witch. She had all she needed and was ready to head back to her camp in Oakwald.

But as she turned to go, she heard something coming from the direction of the Yellowlegs. _Shit_ , she thought. _If that bitch found a Crochan and Mother Blackbeak found out_ … Manon would get a beating like nothing she’d received for a long time. Pissed at the possibility of having to fight a Crochan and a Yellowlegs, Manon turned around and headed back towards the center of the town.

As she followed the sounds and scents, Manon noticed a small girl running ahead of her. She stood out for two reasons. First, the girl’s hair was as white as Manon’s. She’d only ever seen that color on her Shadows, before they’d started dying it black to better conceal themselves. But stranger than that, the girl seemed to be headed to the same place Manon was.

When the girl stopped and looked down a small alley, Manon slowed, quietly sneaking up behind her. Without making her presence known, Manon stretched to look around the corner. _Shit!_ From the looks of things, Iskra was about to take the head off of a Crochan.

Manon glanced down at the girl, realizing at that instant what was happening. She was no girl. She was a witchling. A Crochan. How Manon had not noticed that earlier…she must have been too distracted by Iskra to sense it.

As Iskra’s arm came down, Manon saw the witchling tense, as if about to run and try to stop the witch. But if that happened, she would be dead before she knew what hit her. Acting on pure instinct, Manon grabbed the witchling, covered her mouth to keep her from screaming, turned, and ran.

The witchling squirmed in her arms, struggling to get free to run back to whoever was in that alley. _It must have been her mother_ , Manon thought. She’d seen the Crochan’s bare arm, the deep brown color of her skin similar to that of the witchling. Bile rose in her throat at the thought. She had no love for the Crochans. But the idea of a young witchling left without a mother… She thought that was a worse fate than her own. She’d never known her mother and had always told herself that not knowing her had been a blessing. It had left her with no one to properly miss. No reason to dredge up emotions that would only weaken her.

After a few turns, the witchling stopped trying to wriggle free. _Probably too shocked to fight back_. No one gave Manon a second look as she carried her out of the town, towards Oakwald. Manon didn’t have time to think about what she was doing or why, she only knew she needed to get far away from Iskra.

Once she was more than a mile into the forest, Manon stopped, setting the little witch against a tree. Her face was wet from tears and she was gasping for breath.

“What’s your name?” she asked. She tried to keep her voice light, not wanting to scare her.

Manon had to repeat her question several times before the witchling whispered, “Little Bee.” Her eyes were glazed over, focused on nothing.

“Bee? I think you should have some water. Are you hungry?”

Bee didn’t respond, but when Manon held her canteen up to the witchling’s mouth, she drank it down in a few gulps. Uncertain of what to do next, Manon sat down beside her. She was a sweet little thing. Her bright hair was done in small braids, each with a different colored string twisted in. Manon reached into a small bag and pulled out a caramel, handing it to Bee. The water and sugar seemed to help. Her ashen face gained back some of its color and her breathing evened out.

Watching her, Manon frowned, the full realization of what she’d done finally hitting her. _What did I just do? What am I supposed to do with her now?_

Manon flinched as Bee leaned against her shoulder, reaching up to take Manon’s braid into her small hand.

“I saw you in the market,” she said softly. “I came looking for you. For help.”

Manon swallowed. _Gods. She thought I was a Crochan_.

“I… I didn’t know what was happening,” Manon said. Without thinking, she added, “I’m sorry I didn’t get there in time.”

Sorry?! _Was_ she sorry? She’d gone intending to make the kill herself. Why was she lying? Why was she even helping this witchling? The Blackbeaks had a rule against killing children, human or witch. But that didn’t mean she’d had to _save_ this one.

Bee gasped suddenly and stood. “I need to go. The Yellowlegs might find my Auntie! I need to get to her. Warn her!”

“Wait. Calm down,” Manon said, taking hold of her arm to keep her from running off. “You have an aunt who lives around here?”

Fresh tears were running down Bee’s cheeks. “Yes, please! Can you help us? She’s old. I don’t think she can fight an Ironteeth.”

Manon's chest ached at the desperation in the witchling’s voice. She was beginning to panic. “Here, take some deep breaths. If you know where she lives, I will take you there.”

Following Manon’s lead, the little witch breathed in, then blew out, her cheeks bulging from the effort. Manon couldn’t help a small smile. “You’re awfully brave.” The witchling returned her smile, though it was a sad smile. “And we’ll get to your aunt. I promise.” She looked around, realizing Bee likely wouldn’t be able to find her way from the forest. “Shall we go back towards the town? Then you can point me in the direction of your aunt’s house.”

Bee nodded, taking Manon’s hand in her own. Manon tensed at the touch, not sure how to respond to such overt affection. But looking into the witchling’s eyes, seeing the trust there, the faith that Manon would deliver her to safety… She smiled again and squeezed the little hand. “Let’s go.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 Annabee didn’t remember much about their walk to Auntie Silene’s. She’d known the way from the town, it hadn’t been difficult. But she’d made herself focus on the red cloak. The strong hand that held hers. The silky braid that was the same color as hers. The glittering gold eyes that seemed to steady her. Anything to forget the image of her father lying in that alley. The Yellowlegs witch standing over him. Her sword as it arced through the air. _No, don’t think about it_ , she told herself.

She felt a squeeze of her hand and looked up. The beautiful witch smiled down at her and she forgot about the sights that had just run through her head. “It’s just over this hill,” Annabee said.

When they reached the crest, the witch stopped. “Maybe you should go the rest of the way. I need to get back to my camp.”

“There might be Ironteeth,” Annabee said, suddenly scared again.

“I don’t sense any,” the witch said. “Only your Crochan aunt.” But after she looked back down and saw Annabee’s worry, she gave in, pulling her hood over her head as they continued towards the house.

“If she’s ok, I’m sure she’ll cook you dinner. As a thanks for helping me,” Annabee said, trying to think of an excuse to keep the witch around. But she didn’t answer, and they walked the rest of the way in silence.

When they reached the door, the witch hesitated, then knocked. Auntie Silene peeked through the window. The door was opened seconds later. Annabee dropped the witch’s hand and ran to her aunt, crying. Auntie Silene hugged her and looked to the other witch in confusion. When their eyes met, Annabee felt her aunt freeze. And then before she knew what was happening she was pulled inside and forced behind her aunt. Annabee tried to move around her towards the Crochan, but her aunt blocked her. She felt magic ring through the air, but she wasn’t sure who it was coming from.

“I found your niece in Perranth. Her mother was killed by Iskra Yellowlegs. She may still be in the area. If you have some place to hide, I suggest you go there. Now.”

Annabee frowned, wondering why the witch’s voice was so much harsher than it had been with her. She was about to tell her it had been her father who died when Auntie Silene asked, “And what of you?” Annabee flinched at the hate in her voice. She peeked around, worried that the Crochan might be offended by her aunt’s behavior.

The witch tilted her head to look at Annabee, offering her a small smile. Then, to Auntie Silene, the smile disappearing, she said, “What of me? I was never here.” She turned her back on them and left.

Auntie Silene slammed the door, locked it, and took Annabee into a back room. She pulled up a rug, opened a small door in the floor, and sent Annabee down a ladder.

“What about my things? Fathers things?” She didn’t want to cry again but the thought of leaving his clothes behind seemed too much.

As she came down the ladder, Auntie Silene said, “It’s not important dear. We need to leave. Get you back to your mother. That’s important.” Then, she went back up the ladder and sealed the door with her magic.

They made their way through a long, dark tunnel. Annabee lost track of time. Which made her think about Father. But each time she saw him in the alley, she tried to think about the white-haired Crochan who’d saved her instead. Eventually, she noticed a faint light ahead. As they neared it, Annabee realized it was moonlight. They came out into the forest near a little hamlet. Barely more than a few houses and a tiny inn. Auntie Silene went to one of the houses and knocked. They were ushered in by an old male Crochan, who fed them and let them spend the night. His daughter would take Annabee to Berwyn. It was too hard a trip for Auntie Silene to make, but she’d stay with Annabee until the next day.

Annabee cried herself to sleep that night, trying hard to think about the white-haired Crochan instead of her father. She didn’t want to ignore him, forget him. But it hurt too much to think about him. Despite her best efforts though, his face took over and replaced the witch in her mind. As she began to nod off, Annabee realized she’d never asked the witch her name.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“You never told anyone,” Dorian said in amazement. Manon wasn’t sure if he meant it for her or Annabee.

The witchling answered, but she addressed Manon. “I didn’t know who you were, who you really were, until years later. And when I’d been brought back home and my mother found out what had happened...” She trailed off, frowning. “If I did describe you to her... Well, I suppose it got lost in everything else that we were going through. The loss of my father was very hard on her. Well, both of us.” It took her a moment to continue. “And Aunt Silene was the only person who’d known. She hadn’t known my mother. Why she never sent a message… I don’t know.”

“And when you did realize?” Dorian asked.

Annabee glanced away, and Manon thought she saw an apology in the expression. “I overheard some of my friends talking about the White Demon. How she wore a Crochan cloak and used it to lure witchlings into her clutches.” She let out a derisive laugh. “How she had white hair like me. They actually wondered if we were related. Teased me about it. Asked if I was evil too because of my hair.”

Under her breath, Aven said, “Little bastards.”

“It’s ok Grandmother,” Annabee said with a smirk. “Their teasing didn’t last long.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow and said, “Gods. You three are definitely related. Remind me not to piss any of you off.”

Manon turned abruptly, eyes wide in horror at his flippant remark. But Dorian just smiled and she realized Aven and Annabee were laughing quietly.

“I thought you’d already learned that lesson Dorian,” Annabee said, still smiling. When she looked at Manon however, her smile faded.

Manon felt very uncomfortable. Partly because she didn’t understand how they could all be joking right now. But most of her unease came from the question she desperately wanted to ask. The question that had been bothering her for a very long time. Since that day at the Omega. She didn’t think she deserved an answer. And she worried that it was unfair of her to ask it of Annabee. But...

She looked at each of them before settling on Annabee, then asked, “Would you tell me about her? Your mother?” Manon didn’t bother to cover the way her voice had broken with the question. She didn’t try to hide the pain she felt. The remorse. She laid herself bare to Annabee, her mask gone, useless. Not with the expectation that it would bring forgiveness. But with hope. With the simple desire that these two witches, the grandmother and niece she’d been denied her entire life, might see her for who she really was. Not the reputation she’d created to survive. Not the monster she’d been forced to be. But the person she was trying to be. The person she wanted to be.

Annabee stared at her for a long while, seeming to struggle with her answer. Finally, she nodded and simply said, “Ok.”

She noticed Aven wave a hand at Dorian and gesture towards the door. He sent her a silent question and she nodded, smiling as he kissed her forehead. She heard Aven mention a nearby library to Dorian as they left. His reaction made both Manon and Annabee snort in laughter.  

Once they were gone, Manon turned her attention back to Annabee, who asked, “So, what would you like to know?”

Manon smiled. “Everything.”

 

To be continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to post.  
> Many thanks to @itach-i and @propshophannah (both on tumblr). Without their suggestions and character analyses, most of this would not have been written.


	18. History

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since it's been forever since I last updated, here is a quick recap of some important things -  
> 1\. Manon, Dorian, and Fallon have split off from the rest of the Thirteen (except Asterin and Briar, who went with Rowan). Vesta had led a group back to Morath to spy but they missed the rendezvous. Sorrel, Ghislaine and Faline were sent to look for Vesta and her group. In the meantime, Manon’s group came across a wrecked village. They found dead Crochans and a dead Vesta (killed by Yellowlegs). They don’t know where the rest of the Thirteen are.  
> 2\. The Crochans live in the Frozen Wastes on the western side of the Anascaul Mtns (border of Terrasen). They’ve survived living in an underground network of caves and above ground villages. They have powerful magic, more varied than the yielding magic that the Ironteeth have.  
> 3\. Manon has a grandmother - Aven. And a niece - Annabee - by her half-sister Rhiannon. Upon seeing Annabee, Manon realizes they’ve met before. Manon saved Annabee’s life when she was little (when Iskra killed Annabee’s father). Neither told anyone about it - Manon for fear of punishment from the Matron (for saving a Crochan), Annabee because she didn’t know who Manon was until later, then was afraid to admit what had happened. Aven has kept Manon-Dorian-Fallon separate from the rest of the Crochans since not all of them are happy that Manon is their queen.  
> 4\. Manon and Dorian are mates through a witch mating bond. Witches have two other bonds - a friendship/ally bond (Manon & Asterin, Manon & Abraxos) and an enemy bond (Manon & the Matron). The mate bond is different than a fae mating bond (not as feral, more choice involved). But they can communicate thoughts, feelings, etc. through the bond. The ally bond enhances an existing connection (like how Manon & Abraxos can communicate). The enemy bond is pretty much a guarantee that one person will kill the other. Spoiler?  
> 5\. Dorian still has nightmares and flashbacks to his time under valg control. Manon is still coming to terms with her abuse by the Matron and suffers from depression because of it. But they are both improving with help from each other and the other witches (Blackbeaks and Crochans).  
> 6\. Sex has been had.

 

* * *

 

The sun was slipping beneath the horizon when Dorian said, “We’ve just wasted the entire day.”

Manon rolled onto her side to look at him, her eyes glassy. “I think we will be forgiven. Besides, after what just happened, we deserved a day off.”

Dorian laughed, taking hold of her braid. “That is perhaps the biggest understatement I have ever heard. Do you think we can drag this out until tomorrow?”

“I’m certainly willing to try,” she replied with a smirk. “What did you have in mind Princeling?”

“Actually,” Dorian said, a bit sheepishly, “I thought we could take Abraxos for a little celebratory ride?”

Now Manon laughed. “I suppose I could be talked into it,” she said, standing and offering Dorian a hand. He took it but didn’t get up.

“You’re losing your edge Witchling,” he said, pulling her down on top of him. “You left yourself wide open for that.” Her expression was quite impressive. “Is there a word for glaring and smiling at the same time?” he asked. “If not, I need to think of one.”

“And what of the wyvern ride?”

“We have plenty of time for that after it gets dark.” He kissed her, both of them unable to contain their grins. “In fact, we have plenty of time for everything.”

 

* * *

 

 

Training. That’s all Manon and Dorian had been doing for the past couple of weeks. Every day. Sword fighting techniques with Fallon. Magic instruction with Annabee and Aven. The sword play was for Dorian’s benefit. He was good. But he’d wanted to get better, reluctant to let his magic become a crutch. And the magical training… That was supposed to be for both of them but it had really only helped Dorian. He’d quickly learned to control his magic, in all of its permutations. He’d added fire to complement his ice magic. Shielding, though already one of his strengths, was now becoming second nature. Moving objects to and from greater distances, sussing other people’s magic, harnessing and directing his magic’s destructive power… He was on his way to mastering them all.

Manon, on the other hand, was struggling.

Dorian had described his magic like a well, deep within himself. When it had first manifested, he’d had no control. It had just come out, usually in the form of ice. Later, with practice and focus, he could reach down into it, pull it up, unleash it. And now, it was becoming instinctual.

Manon tried using his well imagery. But when she’d concentrate, she pictured something more like a cauldron or forge. She could feel it roiling with power. But any time she tried to access it, she felt herself becoming consumed. The fear of yielding always pulled her back from the edge of using it. The magic didn’t feel destructive though. In fact, it felt more like… creation. Preservation. Salvation. Not the darkness or ruin she’d always associated with yielding.

Helping to ease Manon’s frustrations, Aven’s instruction also included what could only be called history lessons. She and Dorian were given some accounts of Crochan and Erilean histories to read, but mostly they listened to Aven’s own stories.

The first few sessions had been… well, mind-blowing, often leaving both Dorian and Manon too stunned for words. No small feat with Dorian, Manon had thought later. To her credit, Aven had tried to dole out her revelations slowly so as not to overwhelm them. The timing didn’t really matter. If she’d had years to explain this to them, the shock would have been the same.

Almost everything they’d been told about the Witch Wars was wrong. But that wasn’t really the surprising part. Victors write the history after all. What had left them reeling was Aven’s knowledge of Elena’s bargain and what it meant for the heirs she’d damned for her mistake.

As the only daughter of Rhiannon Crochan and Brannon Galathynius, Aven knew of what she spoke.

Born over seven hundred years ago, Aven had known very early on that she’d inherit one of her mother’s titles. Her half-sister Damson was to take the other one. Neither sister had ever been bothered by the division. It made perfect sense as they had different skills, conveniently suited for the roles they’d inherit. Their fathers also helped determine how things were split. As a full-blooded Crochan, Damson would eventually become Queen. While Aven would become the Guardian of Mala’s Temple.

Aven grew into an accomplished and powerful witch. She’d learned the subtle art of prophecy, to anticipate the arrival of Elena’s chosen heir. She’d mastered the brunt force of her magic, to defend the temple and her people. She’d memorized all of the spells her mother had developed to aid those who would banish Erawan.

When the Ironteeth declared war and attacked, it had not been a surprise. The Bluebloods were obviously not the only clan able to see the future. However, the Blueblood vision that prompted the war had been misleading. Either a result of deliberate lies and manipulation, or simply poor interpretation. Knowing the Ironteeth Matrons, Rhiannon had suspected the former.

Before the final siege of Rhiannon’s palace, most of the surviving Crochans had been relocated to the Maze, Aven among them. Not all of them were lucky enough to be spared. Some had stayed behind. Otherwise, if the Ironteeth were successful, they would have been suspicious, wondering why the fortress was so empty. It had been hardest on the few elite Crochan warriors ordered to leave their Queen so as to ensure the survival of their clan. And it had been an Order. They’d been physically unable to turn back once Rhiannon had sent them on their way.

Damson, along with Aven’s other half-sisters, had remained. Rhiannon had no intention of letting her heir die. But Damson had argued that her shielding magic was crucial to their defense. And her ability to winnow meant she could escape when things became too dangerous. But something had gone wrong. No one else had escaped and no one had been left alive.

Aven had known the moment her mother died. She’d felt the shock waves of Rhiannon’s dying curse, even though she was hundreds of miles away and underground. A few elders who’d served under her mother had helped devise the curse and were there to inform the survivors. It had given them a buffer, to guard their clan’s most important secret. And, it had bought them time, until the prophecy could be fulfilled.

Without their Queen, or the intended heir, the clan turned to Aven for leadership. But she had never wanted to rule. Her new position as Guardian felt like enough of a responsibility, enough of a weight. So, after months of spurning their requests, the remaining elders formed a small council to govern. They’d all agreed that the royal bloodline would continue through Aven. But for now, while they rebuilt their clan, the Crochans would have no queen. And as time passed, as the prophecy grew more clear, they’d agreed to wait. Until they could crown a new queen. The Queen Who Was Promised.

In the decades after the war, Crochan spies brought back word of the outside world. The two surviving Ironteeth Matrons had spread falsehoods to the humans and Fae about the war’s purpose. They’d also begun to influence the next generations of witchlings. The practice and teaching of magic was now strictly forbidden, the Matrons being the only exception of course. Though, yielding was deemed acceptable because it was too useful in battle. Witch bonds were no longer discussed or acknowledged. Disobedience was punishable by death. And the reason for the war, the reason for Rhiannon’s curse… eventually that knowledge disappeared with the rest. All written accounts were burned. All information about the Crochans was destroyed.

But the curse. The curse had kept the Ironteeth from occupying the Wastes. Kept them from finding the Maze and the later topside settlements. Kept the Blackbeak and Yellowlegs Matrons from coming back to search for Mala’s Temple. And its hidden wyrdkey. The true motivation behind the war.

Rhiannon had suspected that the Matrons were working at the behest of another, greater evil. But she’d been unable to find out who. Erawan was still locked away under the Black Mountains. The only other possibility she knew of was Maeve, the Fae Queen across the sea. Rhiannon had never found proof of any connection between her and the other witch clans. But Baba Yellowlegs was highly skilled in the use of witch mirrors. That would have made it all too easy for the Fae Queen to collude with the Ironteeth.

But Rhiannon’s sacrifice protected them and their secret. Their magic served them as well. Occasional Ironteeth patrols would wander into their mountains. But they never wandered back out. The new Ironteeth rule against using magic put them at a ridiculous disadvantage. But the Matrons’ desire for complete control seemed to outweigh any concern for their witches.

As Aven settled into her role as Guardian, and as the Crochans became more certain of their seclusion, she realized her duties were not terribly difficult. She frequently had visions, but rarely did they pertain to the wyrdkey or Elena. Or their promised queen. So, she filled her time instructing witchlings in magic. And when she met Owain, she’d realized there was one duty she had not fulfilled. She needed to provide her clan with an heir.

That had been the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. Not birthing and raising her son. But having to watch as Owain grew old and died. As Guardian of Mala’s Temple, Aven could not possibly yield her immortality for her human husband, mate or not. Her duty - to her mother, her clan, the future - outweighed all. So, unlike other Crochans who were mated or married to humans, she’d had no choice but to carry on without him.

Which had made Liam’s death that much harder to bear. She’d foreseen his role in the prophecy. His daughter would be the one to bring peace to the Witch Kingdom. She’d be the one to unite the witches, Fae, and humans. She’d be one piece of the final puzzle that could send Erawan back to whatever hell he’d crawled from.

They’d all thought his soon-to-be-born witchling would be the subject of the prophecy. But then her mother died in childbirth. And when Rhiannon was old enough to be left alone, Liam drowned his grief by wandering the continent. He’d spend months away, returning for short intervals before leaving again.

One day, after years of this solitary travel, he’d returned to Aven and Rhiannon in shock. Speaking almost incoherently. About his mate. He’d found her. Another witch. But, the wrong kind of witch.

His subsequent search for his Blackbeak mate and child had been unsuccessful. Though it had only been confirmed when Aven no longer sensed her son. He was dead. And she’d had no reason to believe his second child was alive. The Blackbeak Matron would never tolerate a drop of Crochan blood in her clan. If she had any idea that a Crochan Prince had fathered one of her clan’s witchlings… Well, there was no way that baby would survive.

But, over a century later, Liam’s daughter had a vision of her own. And Rhiannon was off in search of her half-sister. The White Demon who’d made a sport of hunting Crochans. The Blackbeak Heir, raised by evil incarnate. The Crochan Queen who was promised to bring peace.

When Aven learned who her other granddaughter was and that she was in fact alive, she knew instantly how and why her son had died. Realized how and why the baby had survived and been raised to murder her own kind. The Matron. Aven had always prided herself on her calm, even temper. But upon understanding the full extent of what had been done to her family, what the gods and goddesses must have been laughing at… She’d been unable to leave her room for days. Rhiannon’s death had been met with numbness. She didn’t have anything left to give. She’d already sacrificed her husband, her son, her granddaughter. There wasn’t much left to take.

Annabee’s grief and anger couldn’t even penetrate the dark haze in which Aven found herself. It wasn’t until she had a new vision - gods how she hated them - that she felt like she could breathe again. It had shown her the end, all of it. The truth of Manon Blackbeak. The fiercely beating heart under the armor. The existence of her mate, one of Brannon and Mala’s heirs, possessing raw magic. The existence of their other heir, who possessed Mala’s fire magic. As well as her mate, the most powerful full-blooded Fae in the world.

Two mated pairs. Each one a wielder of powerful magic. Each of the four elements represented. One of the many possible scenarios for which her parents had planned. The spells required for each outcome developed by Rhiannon and infused into the three wyrdkeys by Brannon. The spells then taught to Aven. Who taught them to Liam. Then young Rhiannon. Then Annabee. Now, she’d need to teach one of the spells to Manon.

Two mated pairs. The witch serving to ground her mate’s raw magic, keeping him from unleashing destruction. The Fae warrior grounding his mate’s fire magic, keeping her from burning the world.

Four elements combining their magic to create the lock and seal the gate. Earth for Manon’s iron and water for Dorian’s ice magic. Fire and air for the Terrasen Queen and her Fae mate.

Four of the most powerful of their kinds - human, witch, Fae. Joining their different magics together to destroy Erawan. Joining together to dissipate the killing power of the wyrdgate. Joining together to ensure the survival of all four.

 

* * *

 

 

That final revelation, the possibility that they could survive the confrontation with Erawan, had left Manon and Dorian dazed. They’d left the caverns for the surface, needing fresh air and sky and grass and time. It took all day for them to recognize and acknowledge the feeling that was beginning to overtake them. And even then, when they could speak of it, say it out loud, it felt so fragile. Like a slight gust of wind could rip it from their grasp.

But, nothing could stop the hope that had bloomed inside them. Hope for victory and a life after. A life together.

So, when the sky was a deep blue that was almost black, excellent cover for a darkly mottled wyvern, they returned to the Maze and saddled Abraxos. When he burst out of the cave, Manon felt like whooping, as Asterin might have done. They’d been so busy and distracted that Abraxos hadn’t been exercised in days. She sent him a silent apology, which, sensing her good mood, he readily accepted.

As they rose higher into the air, the three of them, connected by their bonds, were so full of life and hope and joy.

It was perfectly understandable then, that they didn’t notice the two wyverns and their riders hiding within a small grove of trees near the cave mouth. And once Abraxos swept into a low lying cloud, there was no way to see the wyverns take off, heading south towards Adarlan.


	19. Go

Dorian nudged Manon, nodding across the cavern when she looked up from working on Abraxos’s talon. Annabee and Fallon had just walked in, heading toward Banshee at the opposite side the cave.

 _Your niece is a shameless flirt_ , Dorian thought.

Manon snorted. _Have you been giving her lessons?_

 _Oh you’ve only experienced a fraction of what_ … Dorian didn’t finish his thought as he watched Fallon laugh at something Annabee had said.

“Maybe I’m the one who should be taking notes,” he mumbled under his breath. “Are you seeing this?”

Manon grabbed his arm and pulled him down where she knelt behind Abraxos. “Stop spying on them,” she hissed under her breath.

“Hmmm…” He was still trying to peek around the wyvern. “Either she got it from her father’s side, or it skips a generation. And,” he turned back to her. “I’m not spying. It’s just nice to see Fallon smile.”

She stood and glanced over at the two, smiling herself. “I guess I needn’t have worried about neglecting her lately.” Abraxos released an annoyed huff. She patted his side as she knelt back down. “I’ve already apologized. And you’ve gotten more exercise this past week. You’re far from neglected.” She went back to sharpening his rough talon.

Dorian was waiting for her to reply to his teasing, but nothing came. He knew she wasn’t using the time thinking up a good retort. The suspense, the anticipation… That was part of it. His pulse beat just a little faster.

And because he so loved this about her, the way she would play with him, tease him… He would be patient. She gave as good as she got, enjoying the game as much as he did. Something that might surprise others. Not for the first time, he was struck by how differently those others must see her. And, as always, he was glad he’d never been fooled.

Manon finished and stood, carefully pushing loose strands of hair behind her ears. _Here it comes_ , he thought, unable to keep a smirk off his face. But she just ignored him, walking past to inspect the other claws.

Dorian’s smile faltered and he was about to say something when Aven came running into the cave. She was shouting and it took him a few seconds to understand the words. Manon ran to meet her, Annabee and Fallon following.

But he just stood there. Frozen by the words he was finally processing.

“Ironteeth. About a day out. Hundreds of wyverns. All of you must leave. Now.”

Rushing to pack supplies and weapons, Dorian reached for the pocket where the two wyrdkeys were secured. He’d been doing it reflexively every couple of minutes since Aven’s alarm.

She’d insisted - commanded - that they leave with the keys. Annabee would ride with Fallon and lead them to the temple. It was in the northernmost tip of the Anascauls. About a week on foot, three days on a broom. Less on a wyvern. Once they had the third key, all four would head to Terrasen.

Both Annabee and Manon had protested. But Aven promised that their forces would be sent to Orynth to join them and Aedion’s armies. No one had voiced their shared doubt. That there may not be many Crochan forces left to send.

Manon came into their room wearing her fighting leathers, Wind Cleaver strapped across her back. “They’re almost ready,” she said quietly.

He was impressed by her calm. Both she and Fallon had reacted to the news with lethal conviction. They’d no doubt been expecting it. The only time their composure had cracked was upon learning there still had been no sign of the Thirteen.

“I think I have everything,” he said, his hand going to his chest pocket yet again. “The keys. The spells.”

With a soft smile on her face, Manon reached around him and pulled a dried stem from the pack holding their clothes. Lavender. She inhaled the fading scent and stuck it into her jacket. “Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

 

Back in the wyvern cave, Fallon was preparing Abraxos for flight while Banshee hung back behind her alpha. Manon watched Fallon carefully. Looking for signs that the witch was having second thoughts.

All this time away from her twin had changed Fallon. Opened her up. She’d become more self-assured, more at ease with herself. That missing confidence her sister had distracted from, or helped Fallon to hide. _Maybe Annabee has become a replacement for Faline in some ways_ , she thought. Maybe. But she didn’t see her niece being overly protective, or forcing Fallon out of her shell. She was drawing her out by her attention and personality. _She is quite a flirt_ , Manon mused.

“Don’t worry about me,” Fallon said, noticing Manon’s staring.

“You don’t need to do this.” At Fallon’s hurt expression, Manon tilted her head towards Annabee. “I gave you no order.”

“I know,” the young witch said. “I know it’s my choice and I know what choice I’m making.”

Manon nodded but kept quiet as Dorian approached and began to strap in their bags and weapons. At the cave entrance, Aven talked quietly with Annabee then hugged her. The witchling came over to join them next to Abraxos, rubbing her eyes. She pulled Fallon into a tight hug, whispering something in her ear.

Dorian watched the goodbye with puzzlement. Then, understanding what was happening, he whirled on Manon. Trying to ignore the shock and anger growing on his face, in his thoughts, Manon took his hand and pulled him away from the others.

“What are you doing?” His voice was like ice.

The decision had been immediate. There was no way she’d abandon her grandmother, her people. She’d worn Aven down quickly by getting her to admit that there were other options for using the wyrdkeys if she was unable to join Dorian. The plan would be riskier with three instead of four, but the chance of success and survival was still high.

Fallon had asked to stay too, much to Annabee’s growing anguish. Annabee would have to go with Dorian to guide him to the temple and help with the keys. And although Manon thought Banshee a fine wyvern, she could only fully trust Abraxos to keep Dorian safe.

That had left informing Dorian. She’d meant to tell him in their rooms. But when she’d seen that sprig of lavender… The one she’d kept after his night of courting her. She’d thought it had been lost. But he’d found it. And kept it himself.

Now, Manon prayed to the Three-Faced Goddess to help her through this. And she almost laughed. Laughed at how many other times she’d thought _This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done_ … How wrong she’d been.

“Manon.” Dorian practically moaned her name. Fear replacing his anger and shock. “I’m not leaving you.”

“I can’t leave them. I won’t leave them to fight an army that is hunting for me. For us.”

“Then I’ll stay too. My magic will be needed.”

Her chest felt like it would explode. Her heart actually ached. And she knew some of that must be coming from him. They were both wide open to the other, sharing every feeling.

“You can’t,” she said, choking back a sob. She was determined not to cry. Not for fear of seeming weak. But because if she did, he would insist on staying, and her resolve would waiver.

His hand was trembling in hers. Was this from the bond? All of this emotion and pain? This _physical pain?_

“You know you can’t. You have to get the last key and take it to the others. We can’t risk them falling into the wrong hands. I promise. I will come as soon as I can.”

Manon felt his disbelief in her words. He didn’t doubt her abilities. He just knew the odds were against them. The Crochans had their own army. But, they were spread out too thinly along the mountains. The alarm had been raised and they’d be on the move south. But it would take days for most of them to get here.

He opened his mouth to argue but then closed it. He knew she was right. And he knew he could not convince her to go. She pulled his still shaking hand to her mouth and kissed it.

“Don’t worry,” she said, forcing a smile. “True love doesn’t happen every day. Nothing can come between it. Isn’t that what one of your books said?”

He huffed a quiet laugh, taking hold of her braid. “So that’s what you were reading after I’d fall asleep? Not Aven’s history books as you so adamantly claimed? And you said you only read those because it was a matter of life and death.” His face fell at the slip of that last word.

But Manon kept her smile. “Well, since I apparently lack any skill for flirting, which is absurd considering how easily I ensnared you… I thought maybe I could learn something from one or two of your silly romance novels.”

Dorian’s face lit up and he laughed, even as tears rolled down his cheeks. “ _My_ silly novels? I don’t recall borrowing any. And, I’m not the one quoting them. But don’t worry Witchling,” he said, leaning closer. “I won’t tell anyone how much you like them.”

And now, she was laughing too. And crying. He took her face in his hands and slowly kissed her. Their tears mixed together as the kiss became more desperate, neither wanting it to end… both willing it not to end.

But there was no time left. Easing into a hug, Manon whispered in his ear. “Keep Abraxos safe for me.” His breath hitched and she felt his nod against her shoulder.

When they returned to the others, Annabee was already atop Abraxos. At a look from Dorian, she slid towards the back of the saddle, rolling her eyes.

Manon had already said goodbye to her niece, but she felt a surge of gratitude when Annabee said, “I’ll watch out for them.”

Dorian kissed her again then mounted Abraxos. He turned to Annabee and said, “If I’d known you were to be my bodyguard, I’d have held a proper ceremony. Make you an honorary King’s Guard.” Annabee scowled, her eyes sliding to the others in exasperation.

And as Aven spoke to Dorian, Manon pushed herself to move to the next goodbye. She’d expected Abraxos to be angry, but his expressive face showed a mixture of sadness and determination. She spoke to him mind to mind, leaning her head against his.

_You know how important this is. Keep them safe. I will do everything in my power to return to you._

A sudden half-formed image flashed through her head. The Matron. Then a rush of concern. Hatred.

_I know. She’s coming. That’s part of why I must stay. I will deal with her._

Manon stepped back and gazed into his eyes. _You are mine and I am yours Abraxos. From now until the Darkness cleaves us apart._

He dipped his large head, and before she could move away, his tongue flicked out and he licked her hand. He’d never done that before. She laughed and looked up to find Dorian watching them.

Holding Dorian’s stare, she laid her hand on Abraxos’s neck and said, “Go.”

As her wyvern made his way to the cave mouth, Dorian’s eyes never left hers. They shared again all of the feelings and thoughts they’d exchanged upon accepting the cariad bond. All of the love and understanding that had led them to choose each other.

An instant later, they were out of the cave and shooting into the air, headed north. Aven and Fallon came to stand on either side of her and they watched until Abraxos became a tiny dark spot in the sky. When he’d disappeared from view, they returned to the inner tunnels to prepare for the upcoming battle.

 

* * *

 

 

They’d been airborne for mere minutes and had just cleared a high band of clouds when Annabee leaned forward to speak into Dorian’s ear.

“You didn’t put up much of a fight. You’re not going to Terrasen.”

Not a question. _Good_ , he thought. _Then she has the same idea_. He twisted back so she could hear him over the roar of wind. Abraxos was already beginning to push himself to go faster, at Dorian’s urging.

“No. They’re right about the keys. The Blackbeak Matron cannot get them. We’re going to hide these two in the temple. Only heirs of Brannon can enter. And unless I’m mistaken, there’s only five of us, none of whom will help that bitch. Then, we go back.” She replied with a wicked grin.

Facing forward again, he leaned down over Abraxos’s muscled neck and thought _GO!_

Abraxos let out a scream of agreement and sped up.


	20. Surrender

Less than a year on a wyvern had ruined brooms for Manon. There wasn’t much of anything to remember about riding one. And it was fast and maneuverable. But it was nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to Abraxos. At the thought of her wyvern, the question of whether he’d reached the temple yet… _No. Don’t think about it_.

She took a steadying breath then glanced down to Fallon. Banshee was crouched between two giant pines, trying to stay hidden beneath their branches. All of the surrounding trees held witches on their brooms, invisible from above.

The plan was simple. Crochan villages were being evacuated into the Maze, its entrances sealed or disguised by magic. All of the available aerial fighters were sent south of Berwyn, the southernmost village. They’d concealed themselves in this patch of forest on the slopes of the Anascauls. When the Ironteeth swept through, the Crochans would flank the wyverns from the rear and engage, taking down as many as possible. All the while, pushing them north. Straight into the shield Aven was creating with several other powerful Crochans.

The destructive power of the shield would only be truly effective against that first wave. Once the Ironteeth were aware of the magic, of what it could do to them, they’d avoid it. But, by that point, the Crochans would have the Ironteeth caught between it and some of their most skilled magic wielders and fliers.

It was a good plan. Especially when considering almost half of the Crochan army had yet to arrive from the north. Manon had helped develop it with the few council members who resided at this end of the Maze. Several of the witches had watched her with distrust and even hatred when she’d entered the meeting with Aven. Nothing less than Manon had expected.

What she hadn’t expected was Catrin’s presence there, as a junior Councilor. With the joint backing of Aven and Catrin, and, perhaps more importantly, the imminent threat of battle, most of the resistance to Manon’s presence was put aside. The Council even listened when she made suggestions for positioning their forces based on the lay of the land.

Then, when Manon offered tactics for taking on the wyverns, they put her in charge of the aerial squad. Catrin had spoken forcefully at the first objection, pointing out that the Crochans had no experience fighting wyverns and they’d be fools not to use Manon’s knowledge and skill. The Council was nothing if not pragmatic and had agreed without any further debate. But some members remained upset, skeptical about ceding so much control to a witch who, until recently, had been their number one enemy.

But now, as Manon waited, going over the details again and again in her head, she couldn’t help but feel it would fail. Everything felt off. She only had one of her Thirteen by her side. Yes, Fallon was a force to be reckoned with. But the absence of Asterin and Sorrel… and Vesta. It hit Manon like a punch in the gut.

And Abraxos wasn’t with her. And…

 _No_ , she thought. _Don’t let your mind wander. Not there. Stay focused._

Manon surveyed the trees around her, assessing their numbers again. A little over three hundred witches. They didn’t have exact numbers for the Ironteeth though it was estimated at around the same size. But the enemy rode wyverns while they had only brooms.

 _And magic_ , she reminded herself. _More than just the Ironteeth yielding magic_.

Her own magic was still bottled up within her, the power churning inside the forge she visualized as its source. But whenever she accessed it, tried to wield it, she would falter and it would fade away. _Well_ , she thought, turning again to check on the solitary Demon Twin, _Fallon and I have our own specialties_.

A Crochan named Aneira flew up and hovered beside her. She was the senior aerial leader for the southern villages and hadn’t batted an eye at Manon being given command of her fighters. She’d simply nodded and said, “Good. You know wyverns. And the Ironteeth.” Then she’d grinned, flashing her own sharp, metal teeth. “But we do have some tricks up our sleeves that may be useful.”

“How are they doing?” Manon asked her now.

“Ready,” she said.

 _This one does not waste words_ , Manon thought approvingly. And suddenly she was reminded of her quiet, stoic Third. She made herself a silent promise that she would see Sorrel and the others again. If not in this world, then the next.

“I’m not sure what to call you,” Aneira said, interrupting Manon’s thoughts.

“What do you mean?”

“I know you’ve been called-”

Manon held up her hand to stop what she knew was coming. What she perhaps deserved to hear from these witches. Even now, as they waited to fight a shared enemy. _White Demon. Monster_.

“Wing Leader,” Aneira finished.

Uncertainty laced the two words though they held no mockery. Just blunt curiosity. Aneira now had a bewildered expression on her face, unsure of what offense she’d committed. Manon released the breath she’d been holding

“Call me Manon.”

A quick nod, then she said, “You don’t seem very sure of our chances Manon.”

Manon eyed the witch as she balanced effortlessly on her broom, two arrows already nocked in her bow, a gleaming sword strapped across her back… then smiled. “The wyverns put us at a disadvantage. But your magic evens the odds a bit. And those maneuvers you’ve developed for the broom…” Her smile turned wicked. “One of many reasons I am glad to be fighting _alongside_ you today.”

Aneira’s only reply was to mirror Manon’s grin, adding her own little feral twist to it.

They both turned as a low signal carried through the trees. The front of the Ironteeth forces had been sighted.

 

* * *

 

Dorian hated pushing Abraxos so hard. At the first of their few stops, they’d dumped all the supplies they could, keeping only light weapons and some food. They could get everything on the return flight. But now, they needed speed.

“We’re close,” Annabee called from behind. “The Temple is inside that tall mountain with the jagged peak.” She pointed to a row of mountains that all looked the same. But he knew which one it was because he could feel it. Feel the third key calling to him and its companions. And yes, thank the gods, they were close. His heart leaped at the possibility that they might get back quickly.

A half an hour later, Annabee was yelling directions and Abraxos circled for a place to land. The moment he touched down, Dorian and Annabee jumped off.

“We shouldn’t be long,” he said to the wyvern. “Do you need to hunt?” Abraxos’s eyes were on fire with intensity. And impatience. He huffed and didn’t move from the spot where he’d landed.

“Ok,” Dorian said, turning to Annabee. “Lead the way.”

They climbed the rough slope as quickly as they could, eventually reaching a path that curved towards a small cleft in the rock. At the opening, Dorian asked, “Have you ever been inside before?”

“Only once. The temple itself is deep within the mountain. But the wards protecting it extend pretty close to the surface. We won’t have to go too far to place the keys out of reach.”

He nodded for Annabee to go ahead when a scream sounded from below. They both jumped at it but recognized it as a warning. Without hesitating, Dorian pulled the wyrdkeys from his pocket and gave them to Annabee. “Hide them. Go!”

Before she could say anything, he was running back down to Abraxos.

 

* * *

 

It felt like forever for the Ironteeth army to fly by where Manon and the Crochans hid. She’d tried to get a better grasp of the size of the force, but they moved at such speed she quickly lost track. She saw mostly Yellowlegs, but a fair amount of Blackbeaks too. She thought she could feel Fallon’s stomach twist at the realization that they were heading into battle against their own clan. Something she had not sensed was the Matron. But with so many flying by so quickly, it was impossible to make out individuals.

An update from witches in better vantage points was spread through the ranks, confirming what Manon thought. They were badly outnumbered and outmatched. Magic or not.

There was nothing for it but to fight.

Manon looked to Fallon and then Aneira, who signaled to her subordinates. The order continued through the trees, until the witches buzzed with a ferocity and determination that was palpable. Grips on swords tightened, arrows were nocked, daggers unsheathed. Finally, another call was heard - no more wyverns approaching.

With a nod from Manon, the brooms poured silently from the forest. Upon clearing the trees, they immediately moved into tight formations the Thirteen might be jealous of. The groups flew so close together, it was like they were wyverns themselves. As she flew down to Fallon, to wait and emerge at the end, Manon felt a surge of hope.

“Shit,” Fallon breathed. She was shaking her head in awe. “We switched sides at a good time I think.”

“Yes,” Manon said, eyes wide. “Yes we did.” She flicked out her iron nails and teeth and said, “Shall we join them?”

Manon took off on her broom, leaving Fallon and Banshee to bring up the rear and hunt down any of the enemy who tried to escape.

 

* * *

 

Dorian leaned from behind a boulder to peer down at the clearing where they’d landed. Two enormous wyverns were slowly circling Abraxos, growling and snapping their teeth. He was huddled in the middle, head bobbing back and forth to keep them both in sight. His iron studded tail was held high in the air, ready to strike.

“I’m tempted to stay and watch. I’ve always despised that miserable runt.” A low, vicious female voice.

Two figures stepped out into the clearing - a tall, dark haired witch in a black robe and a slightly less decrepit version of Baba Yellowlegs. Although he couldn’t remember seeing her with his own eyes before, Dorian knew instinctively who the dark one was.

And as he wondered why the Blackbeak Matron had a Yellowlegs witch with her, Annabee crept up behind him. When she caught sight of the witches below, she stopped. An uncharacteristic thrum of fear radiated from her and he realized who the other one must be. The Yellowlegs witch who had killed her father.

They had not been seen. Yet. Casting a shield around them, Dorian took Annabee’s hand and pulled her down to a sitting position. The witchling looked dazed, possibly in shock.

_Shit. Shit!_

He needed to think. Had they been followed the entire time? Did the Matron actually think one of them would willingly give her the temple key? A whine from below made him flinch. And what about Abraxos? He was a strong fighter. But at those odds? If he was in the air maybe he’d stand a better chance.

Dorian looked at Annabee. Her bright brown eyes were fixed on him but she was trembling. Maybe they didn’t know she was with him. Abraxos needed a distraction to get off the ground. And Annabee needed time to regain her full senses.

Unsure of what exactly he would do or say, Dorian stood and walked out into full view of the two witches, who were now climbing towards the temple. Sounds of teeth and claws beginning to tangle carried up the slope. But that wasn’t what made Dorian freeze in terror.

A grin spread across the Matron’s face as she lifted her hand. “Ah. The former king of Adarlan. Erawan was rather upset that you broke his toy.” Her laugh was oily and he would have shivered if not for being paralyzed by fear. “Luckily for you, he had a replacement.”

The black metal collar in her hand… it sucked in everything around it. Devoured the light and sound and air. And… it was calling to him.

 

* * *

 

The Crochan forces flowed from one rider to another along the rear ranks of Ironteeth. Manon thought they looked like flies swarming around a corpse, picking it clean, and moving immediately on to the next. Arrows from behind incapacitated riders, while swords sliced easily through necks and wings. And those who possessed strong magic used whatever element they commanded to try to bring the wyverns down. Luckily, the Ironteeth did not fly in any particular formation, allowing the Crochans to pick them off with precision. And without detection.

This strategy wouldn’t last long however.

And as excited as Manon was by the abilities of the Crochans, the feeling was tempered with despair at the Blackbeak losses happening in front of her. Because of her. She did not hold back with her arrows or Wind Cleaver. Yes, she knew these witches. But she knew who they fought for. And it wasn’t for anything good.

As she closed in on a wyvern, an arrow shot past her, just missing its mark. The Yellowlegs witch it sailed by turned and saw them. But just before one of Manon’s daggers thudded into her chest, the Yellowlegs got the attention of the witch beside her. And after that, knowledge of their presence spread like fire through the Ironteeth.

 _Now it gets ugly_ , Manon thought.

The Crochans saw the alarm raised and reacted. They split apart from their smaller groups, flying straight at wyvern riders, swords drawn. Some held back still using their bows. But the brunt of the attack was now coming from the Crochans’ magic.

Ironteeth from the middle of the pack began turning to engage, their wyverns grabbing Crochans and brooms with their talons or teeth. It became mayhem, and Manon just barely managed to swerve out of the grasp of a particularly large, blood red wyvern.

She lead part of the aerial force along the western flank of the enemy, trying to keep them hedged in and moving towards the shield. The front of the army should be close to it. And just as she wondered if there would be some sign when the wyverns hit the shield, a wave of air rushed past her, almost knocking her off the broom. Then she heard, and felt, an enormous **BOOM**.

“Gods damn this thing”, she yelled, quickly regaining her balance on the broom and flying ahead to see what had happened.

A heaping line of bodies - huge wyverns and witches scattered atop - littered the ground where the shield curved out from the foothills into the tundra. Manon hadn’t really known what to expect… but it had not been this.

The shield, barely visible as a crackling curtain of energy, had taken out almost a third of the Ironteeth force. It spanned an incredible distance and height, making sure it would catch as much as possible. The amount of magic it took to create and maintain such a thing… it was unimaginable to Manon.

But her awe was cut short as Aneira zoomed up to meet her. The look on the Crochan’s face made Manon’s stomach drop.

“We have another group of wyverns coming from the south.”

 _Shit_ , Manon thought. When the Council was devising their plan, someone had brought up the possibility of the Ironteeth splitting their forces. But with their own limited numbers, there had been no way to counter it. They’d simply hoped it wouldn’t happen.

She looked around for Fallon but didn’t see her. “Where is Fallon?”

Aneira shook her head. And her eyes told Manon there was more to the gesture than a simple no. “She took off after them when they were spotted. I don’t know what she was thinking…” But she didn’t finish as the realization seemed to hit her.

Just as it hit Manon.

With a rapidly growing smile and a rough edge to her voice, Manon said, “Tell your squad to get ready. We have reinforcements coming and they must not be mistaken for the enemy.”

As Aneira left to spread the word, Manon took off in the opposite direction. She saw them coming in the distance. But… the group was much larger than she’d expected. Could she have been wrong?

As she closed the space between them, Manon saw Sorrel in the lead, then  Ghislaine, and Edda and the Demon Twins reunited, and Lin and Kaya and on and on…

A sob escaped her as she neared Sorrel. She flew right up to her, jumped off her broom onto Lechen, and embraced her Third. Sorrel actually laughed, struggling to maintain control of her wyvern and hug Manon at the same time.

Still holding her broom, Manon settled in behind Sorrel and looked behind them. The Thirteen were in the lead, but they were followed by an army of Blackbeaks and Bluebloods, led by Petrah.

“You better have a good explanation for all of this,” she said to Sorrel.

With a laugh, she asked, “Another time maybe?” Then, her expression sober, Sorrel asked simply, “Vesta?”

“We found her,” Manon replied. “And gave her a proper goodbye.”

“Well,” Sorrel said, her eyes flashing, “The bitches responsible are right there.” She nodded at the Yellowlegs witches heading straight for them.

Before Manon could reply, a dark, fiery burst of power exploded in front of them. Reflexively, she threw her hands up to block it. But as Lechen was sent spinning back through the air, Manon was thrown clear, hurtling to the ground.

 

* * *

 

Annabee was still shaking. She couldn’t stop. No matter how hard she willed herself to…  _just. stop. shaking._

Dorian had left her. Left her in this crevice between rocks. She felt his magic surrounding her, heard muffled voices outside of the shield. Where had he gone?

And why the hell was he protecting her? She could do that for herself.

Pressing her hands between her knees to try and still them, she focused on her breathing. And as her lungs filled with air, emptied of air, filled with air… again and again, Annabee began to remember where she was and what was happening. Who Dorian was now talking to.

The Blackbeak Matron had followed them to Mala’s Temple. And Iskra Yellowlegs… Memories of her father, that day in Perranth, Iskra’s sword failing towards his neck… Manon pulling her back and delivering her to safety.

Iskra must be the Matron’s new flunky. Annabee almost laughed, struck by what a pathetic replacement that bitch made for Manon.

As she moved onto all fours, preparing to rise, she still shook. Her hands, and now her arms.

But it was no longer from fear.

 

* * *

 

Somehow, Manon had managed to keep hold of her broom. She regained just enough control to slow herself and lessen the impact when she hit the ground . But it took her a few moments for her ears to stop ringing and her vision to clear. When she looked up to the sky, her heart sank. At random points across the vast expanse of the battle, Ironteeth witches were flying into groups of Crochans and towards her own newly arrived Ironteeth forces. Getting close… and yielding. The Crochans looked to be shielding themselves, but the shock of the magic still sent them floundering, easy prey for the wyverns. 

Manon turned slowly around, forcing herself not to be dizzy, searching for Sorrel and the others who had taken the brunt of that first blast. Not too far from her, there were a few large mounds that looked like wyverns. Running as fast as she could manage, Manon told herself over and over that they weren’t wyverns. Couldn’t be. She couldn’t have been reunited with her coven just to lose them. _No nononono_

When she recognized Lechen, she stopped, refusing to go closer. Unable to go closer.

 _No_. They had not survived all of this, everything, just to die. She closed her eyes and focused on the silence that still lingered from the damage to her hearing. An image of a boiling, white hot forge floated through her head. She breathed, trying to calm herself. Trying to steady her mind as she reached into her power.

But… as had happened so many times before… The image disappeared. Along with any connection to her magic.

Manon opened her eyes to see Lechen. Blood pooling around his neck. Around a hand stretched out from beneath his wing.

“No,” she said. It turned into a scream with each repetition. “No No NO NONONONO!”

The forge burst into her vision and she didn’t try to calm herself this time. Instead, she surrendered fully to it. Let the energy burn through her. Join with her rage. Let it consume her.

Manon threw back her head as a blinding white light exploded from within her. It left her body in waves, pouring up into the sky, rushing along the ground, encompassing the entire field of battle.

She saw nothing except white. Unbearably bright. But she couldn’t close her eyes to it. It was her. Her anger. Her magic. Her power.

As the thought worked its way through her mind, the brightness seemed to dim. And she was able to see. But not with her eyes. It was her magic. Points of gray and black flitted here and there, interspersed with brilliant white spots. She knew then what she needed to do. What she _could_ do.

She focused on the dark spots and gathered the power of her yielding. The power over which she had complete control.

With a single sweep of her hand, Manon Blackbeak sent the Matron’s forces falling from the sky. Wyverns and witches. Yellowlegs and Blackbeaks. With a single sweep, the battle had ended and her enemies were dead.

 

 

… TO BE CONTINUED!


	21. Endure

The world had stopped existing for Dorian. The only thing he knew, the only thing he felt, was the collar.

He’d been unable to stop it. The instant he’d overcome his fear enough to act, the Matron had taken control of his magic with her own. And the instant he’d overpowered her hold on him, the Yellowlegs witch was clasping the collar around his neck. When it was joined, everything disappeared. He was back in the dank dungeons of his castle. Surrounded by wails and screams. Blood and death and pain.

A deep sigh rattled through his head. Then, something chuckled. “My but you _are_ powerful.”

Dorian tried to hold on to his mind, his memories. But he shrank back inside himself, away from that voice. Away from the collar. Away from everything.

 

* * *

 

Dimming her magic for fear she’d be discovered, Annabee painstakingly crawled down through the boulders and rocks. She came out into the clearing where they’d landed. Where the two giant wyverns still encircled Abraxos, taking turns biting and clawing at him. Blood sprayed each time they struck and she winced at the sounds. Abraxos remained crouched between them, his wings tight against his body to protect them. And to give his vicious tail the freedom to land damaging blows of his own. His iron spikes were the only thing keeping them back.

He needed to get into the sky. Or, at least out from between the beasts. She hadn’t wanted to expose herself and her power so soon, but there was no way she’d leave him. After pausing to get a read on which wyvern was the biggest threat - the one with the poison-green skin - she crept forward.

Abraxos caught her movement and swung around to face her. Sensing an opening, the dark gray wyvern lunged at Abraxos’s neck. Without thinking, Annabee threw up her hands and released a shaft of blue flame towards it.

When it hit, the wyvern flew back and let out an earth-shattering scream. The fire didn’t catch on the outside of the creature though. While it thrashed and flopped on the ground, burning up from the inside out, Abraxos burst into the sky. And before she could take aim at the green wyvern, it shot up in pursuit. Abraxos was on his own now, but she’d given him a fighting chance.

Annabee started up the slope. As she ran, she could sense Dorian’s magic. But it felt… wrong. Flickers of intensity, but otherwise, subdued and hazy. Like lightening in a storm.

When she reached the Ironteeth witches and saw the black band around Dorian’s neck, saw his sapphire eyes replaced by an empty darkness, Annabee slid to a stop. “Oh gods,” she muttered.

The Matron and Iskra turned to face her, neither one surprised by her presence.

With a sneer, the Matron said, “Take care of her Iskra, while we get the keys.” Dorian - _no, Not_ _Dorian_ , she thought - looked at her blankly, then turned to follow the Matron as she made her way to the temple.

Annabee’s attention slid back to Iskra, who approached slowly, pulling out her sword. But before the Yellowlegs witch even had it out of the scabbard, Annabee spun and kicked her in the face, sending her flying back onto her ass.

 

* * *

 

He followed the dark witch up the path to the temple, but his mind had caught on the young one who’d just appeared. _That face_ … It looked vaguely familiar. He must know her. No. _She looked like someone. Yes, someone else_. Someone, but… the eyes were different. Not brown. _No. Her eyes were brighter_. He remembered staring into them. Remembered how he’d felt looking at them. How they’d made him stronger. Complete. A person made whole.

And just like that, they flashed briefly into his mind. He knew those eyes. And knew what they’d done for him. Knew they’d saved him.

So, while the thing inside him taunted and laughed, he stayed silent and ignored it.

He concentrated on her eyes. _Manon’s eyes_ , he thought suddenly. The details were coming back to him. Gold. A gold so deep and lustrous that the pigment held a multitude of different shades and colors - yellows and browns, but underlying those, almost hidden, the tiniest flecks of reds and blues. The image of them began to solidify. They were fathomless, so intense in his memory that he wondered if he was somehow looking at the real thing. The surge of self-awareness, he felt was certainly real.

With her eyes as a focal point, Dorian felt for his magic. For a split second he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to use it. But the witch had lifted her hold on him, thinking the valg would be enough.

She’d thought wrong.

 

* * *

 

Manon knelt on the ground, letting her head fall into her hands. She’d been too late. Her magic was too late. She’d lost her Thirteen. Countless Crochans and Ironteeth allies. The battle was over. But it was too late.

She sat like that for a long time, sobbing, until she felt a hand on her back. Someone crouched beside her, repeating her name. She didn’t want to open her eyes, didn’t want to find out who else she may have lost today. When she heard a whispered _Wing Leader_ , Manon slowly raised her head. Fallon. A bloody gash ran down the side of her face. But, she was alive.

And then Sorrel was kneeling before her, pulling Manon into a tight hug.

When Sorrel let her go, Manon stared in disbelief. “How?” Her voice was a croak, nothing left after all of her screaming.

Sorrel was shaking her head. “You shielded us. From the yielding. I don’t know how but… I saw it stop most of the blast.”

A few more of her Thirteen were walking towards them. Manon was waiting for them to disappear. She didn’t want to blink for fear they’d be gone when her eyes opened.

“You didn’t stop us from getting thrown to the ground. There were some bad landings. Plenty of injuries. Lechen managed to get me under a wing before we hit.” At the mention of his name, the wyvern growled softly. “The Thirteen will be fine. We lost some of the larger force, but less than we would have without you. And Petrah made it.” Sorrel pointed to the Blueblood heir who was seeing to the injured nearby.

Manon hugged Sorrel again. “I thought you were all dead,” she whispered. Sorrel only squeezed her tighter.

A group of Crochans approached, and Manon was glad to see Aneira with them. Releasing Sorrel, she got up and ran to meet them.

Before Manon could get the question out, Aven appeared from the back. Aside from mussed hair and an air of exhaustion, the little old witch looked fine. Manon ran to her and was swallowed up in a hug.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t use my magic sooner, “ Manon said into her grandmother’s ear. “I should have tried harder. Or done it differently. I could have saved them.”

She felt Aven shaking her head as she said, “Do not apologize Manon. You did save us. Without you, no one would have survived.” She rubbed Manon’s back, whispering soft words of consolation.

Manon pulled back and surveyed the various witches gathered around them. Several Crochan healers were treating the wounds and broken bones of the Thirteen and their allies. And a few were even seeing to the wyverns. When she looked back towards the shield, now gone, she saw more of the same. Healers tending to the injured, Crochans gathering their dead. The Matron’s Ironteeth witches were ignored, left for later.

The Matron. Manon whirled back to Aven. “Were any of the Matrons here?”

Aven looked across the battle field. “I did not sense them. But we won’t know for sure until the bodies are searched.”

The answer left Manon feeling uneasy. She’d hoped Aven or one of the other Crochans would have seen the Matron or felt her through their magic. And that made her wonder if her own magic would have sensed the Matron. If the witch would have appeared differently than her other enemies in the blinding white of her yielding.

“Do you know what happened? Did you know I could do that?”

“I thought you might have the ability to control the yielding. Though, that’s not terribly uncommon among Crochans. We control it enough to survive it, nothing more.” Aven narrowed her eyes and pulled Manon away from the others. “What did you do? What did you see?”

Manon described how she let her magic, her anger, consume her. Let it explode out of her. “I had no control at first. But when I… I’m not sure how to explain it. I accepted it. Let it become part of me…” She shook her head. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“No,” Aven said. “Don’t stop. Just tell me, in whatever way you can.”

“Once I knew it was… me… I could see them. Distinguish friend from enemy. And when that happened…” Manon’s voice grew stronger as she said, “I ended them.”

Aven’s brow furrowed in thought. Manon recognized the expression and was not surprised when her grandmother mumbled, “Let me think on it,” as she wandered off in the direction of the Maze.

Dorian would have laughed at how Aven was stumbling away, lost in the mystery, talking to herself about magic and bonds. Now that the battle was over and she’d survived, Manon let herself think of him and Abraxos and Annabee. And with them in her heart and thoughts, she made her way to help the injured. 

 

* * *

 

Iskra was up and lunging at Annabee in a heartbeat. Annabee ducked and swung around, reaching for one of the two daggers she had strapped to her thigh. _Bad call dumping our weapons after we left_ , she thought, as Iskra whirled back to face her.

“Nice hair,” the witch drawled. “Rare though.” A nasty sneer slid across her face. “I seem to recall a Crochan moaning something about her white-haired daughter while I was torturing her. Wasn’t too long ago actually. Tell me, did I kill your father and-”

Annabee’s hand flew up, shooting blue flame at Iskra. But instead of hitting the witch, it blasted against a shield, fizzling into nothing.

With a vicious laugh, Iskra said, “Did you think you were the only ones with magic? I’m afraid your bad day is about to get a lot worse.”

A screech sounded from overhead and Annabee glanced skyward. Abraxos zoomed by, followed closely by the large, green wyvern. They’d moved too fast for her to take out Abraxos’s pursuer.

Her attention flew back to Iskra as she sensed the witch gathering her store of magic. Annabee knew she was more powerful than the Yellowlegs witch. But, despite all of her bravado and talk, she had never been in a real fight outside of the training ring. She strengthened her shield and sheathed the dagger. It wouldn’t help her now, and she needed both hands free for her magic.

Iskra smiled and said, “If I were honorable, I’d say we could settle this with iron.” Her teeth slid out at the same time as her nails. “But I don’t really give a shit about honor.”

A loud BOOM sounded behind Annabee. She turned her head and had just enough time to catch a glimpse of a green tail as she was sent flying into a boulder.

 

* * *

 

When they reached the mouth of the temple, the Blackbeak Matron motioned for Dorian to go in first.

It was Dorian now, though she didn’t know that. He had enough control over the valg to maintain the dark, evil stare. He had control over the movement of his body. But he hadn’t yet pooled enough magic to force the thing out. He just needed a little more time.

He passed her and stopped. Using the voice of the valg, he said, “Will you join me? The wards do not begin for some distance. Or so this human thinks.”

“No. I am aware of the spells protecting this site.” She eyed him suspiciously. “Is he playing with you Lord Valg? Perhaps the Havilliard spawn has grown too strong for one collar.” She smiled, revealing her rusty, fetid, iron teeth. “I can fetch the other one I brought. I’d so hoped to return with two pets for Erawan. A matching set. Once I have the keys I will collect Manon from the Crochans.”

At the mention of her name, Dorian’s power surged. He would blow this mountain to pieces before he let this bitch near Manon.

The magic swelled inside him until it was roiling just beneath his skin. His eyes must have returned to their normal brilliant blue because the Matron was staring at them. Her own eyes grew wider and she took several steps back.

Altering something he’d learned from Aven, Dorian took hold of his fire magic and focused one part of it. Not outside of himself. But inside, at the valg who now huddled in terror within a corner of his mind. At the same time, he gathered the remaining magic and let loose the same destructive power he’d used to kill his father. Joining it with fire, he sent it out through him, reaching for the collar around his neck.

He had a fleeting worry that he might actually burn out his magic. But the fire made quick work of the valg. _Powerful indeed_ , Dorian thought. And once the thing was expelled and no more than an afterthought, he pushed everything into the collar. At the first crack, Dorian sent more. As the stone shattered, his magic exploded from him. The Matron flew back and disappeared in a cloud of fire and earth.

 

* * *

 

Annabee rolled over and cried out. Blood ran down her arm from a long, ragged gash. Her whole body hurt. But when she heard Iskra’s laugh carry across the rocks, she gritted her teeth and pushed herself to her feet. The witch stood next to the green wyvern.

_Oh gods. Where is Abraxos?_

Unable to put all her weight on her left leg, she was forced to lean against the boulder she’d hit. Iskra was saying something but Annabee wasn’t listening. She felt a huge spike in Dorian’s magic. _He must be trying to break free from the collar_. And seconds later, something like a thunderclap shook the mountain, sending debris rolling down the slope. Iskra smirked and continued with her taunts, unaware that the power behind that blast had come from Dorian.

Annabee poked at the witch’s shield with her magic. Not hard enough to be noticed. _She’s too damn busy gloating she wouldn’t feel it anyway_ , Annabee thought. No, it was only to see how far it extended. And… there… Just as she’d thought, the wyvern was too large to be covered. With a flick of her hand, she shot her blue flame towards the beast’s tail. And, just as she’d thought, Iskra was too slow, or not strong enough, to extend her shield in time.

The flame caught the end of the wyvern’s tail, which was all it needed. The beast roared and Iskra jumped back from it, expecting the thing to catch fire. It did. Just nowhere visible.

Annabee blasted pulses of magic at Iskra’s shield. It held, but she could tell it was weakening. The Yellowlegs growled and sprinted towards her, her old, craggy face belying her true speed.

She was closing in when Annabee’s magic stuttered. She was losing too much blood. Her iron teeth and nails slid out. With a snarl, Annabee crouched, preparing for the blow.

Iskra hit her like a battering ram. She landed on gravel that dug into the cut in her arm and she screamed. She could just barely make out the wyvern rolling and screeching in pain behind them.

“You’re even more pathetic than your mother,” Iskra said, straddling her, pinning her arms against the ground. The witch reached back for one of Annabee’s daggers, bringing it up to rest against her cheek. “She begged at the end. Will you do the same?”

A dark shape behind Iskra caught Annabee’s eye. She blinked. Abraxos. He landed on the dying wyvern and with one bite, tore its throat out. He was covered in cuts and bites. But the blood was not all his. She saw him turn to her, a feral expression on his face.

Iskra hadn’t heard him land over the cries of the other wyvern, and had no idea the little wyvern was stalking towards her. Annabee smiled. Summoning all of her remaining physical strength, she shot up and headbutted Iskra, sending her flying back to the waiting wyvern.

Abraxos spun and swung his tail at the Yellowlegs witch. She went sprawling across the rocky path. By the time she was struggling to her feet, Abraxos had hopped over to her. A flick of his wing sent her down again, landing on her back. And again, he was there before she could get up. He brought his foot down on top of her, knife sharp talons on either side of her neck. Then, ducking his head low, he roared into her bloodied face.

When he drew back, Iskra tried to squirm but he held her too tightly. She spat at him and screamed, “You fucking runt!”

Annabee rose slowly, pain shooting throughout her body. Iskra’s sword had landed nearby. She picked it up and made her way over to where Abraxos held the witch down. She hefted the sword as high as her injured arm allowed.

“You know something? You talk too fucking much.”

She let the blade fall. With so little strength, it only cut through about half of Iskra’s neck. But it was enough. She didn’t deserve a clean kill.

Annabee dragged the sword slowly back and looked at Abraxos. “She’s all yours.”

He bared his iron teeth, already dripping with blood and gore from the green wyvern. And a second later, Abraxos ripped Iskra’s head from her body and flung it out across the rocky slope.

 

* * *

 

When Dorian’s eyes opened, all he could see was smoke and settling dust. He reached up and stopped, his shaking fingers a hairsbreadth away from his neck. When he forced them to move, and felt bare skin there… He almost dropped to his knees in relief.

As the air cleared, he surveyed the area. Tiny shards of wyrdstone lay scattered around him in a circle. Rubble and debris were spread out in a similar pattern, with him standing in the center on bare dirt.

His head jerked down the slope towards a loud, vicious roar. It had sounded like Abraxos, but Dorian couldn’t be sure. He stumbled as he turned to go down, his legs feeling heavy in the aftermath of using so much magic. But a sound from behind made him stop.

Out of nowhere, a large boulder came right at him. He lurched to the side, just enough to avoid the brunt of the attack. Landing hard, he cursed his stupidity and threw a shield around himself. He started to rise but he was pushed back down by a blow of magic.

“I’m not leaving without the keys.”

On all fours, Dorian looked behind him and watched the Matron descend the path to stand next to him.

“I must confess I’m rather disappointed.”

She circled him, her hand stretched out, forcing him down. His shield was protecting him, but not enough to hold off the terrible weight of her magic. And, he could feel his power beginning to drain.

“Manon must not have told you much about me, if you think that collar is the only way I can control you.”

“Don’t you speak her name.” His voice was a deep, guttural sound, unlike anything he’d ever heard before. Dorian’s jaw clenched tight as he worked to draw up more magic from within. The Matron only laughed, slowly making her way around him.

His thoughts turned to Annabee. Abraxos. He wondered where they were, if they were still alive. Reaching out with his magic, he could sense the witchling nearby. But just barely. She’d expended most of her magic. And might be injured.

The breath he was holding blew out in a rush when he felt Abraxos near her. Dorian couldn’t tell if the wyvern was hurt or not, but the simple fact that he was alive gave him hope.

The Matron suddenly stopped and bent down to look him in the eye. “This is getting tedious. Perhaps I should just be done with you and use the Crochan witchling. Her magic is gone.”

Dorian shut his eyes, cursing himself for thinking she wouldn’t be able to suss out others’ magic as he could.

“Or I could _use_ her to make you give me the keys. That might be fun. Though, Manon would have been the better choice.”

With as much concentration as he could muster, Dorian silently shouted _Abraxos take Annabee and go_. They each shared a special bond with Manon, and he prayed that would be enough for the wyvern to get his message.

The Matron sneered with disgust. “How you reek of gallantry. So desperate to save them. Save anyone.”

Over and over again, he sent the command to Abraxos as the Matron’s power pushed on his shield. A cry from nearby and he glanced up. Gravity weighed his head down, but he was just able to see Abraxos gliding low, away from them.

“And as usual, you’ve failed.” The Matron turned and with a flip of her hand, sent the wyvern flailing, as if he was being tossed in a storm. Abraxos quickly lost control and went down.

“Now,” she snarled as she turned back to face him. “Let’s see how long it takes you to break.”

Dorian’s head dropped as his shield shuddered and then disappeared. The magic she used to eat away at it finally hit him. His scream rang across the mountainside as he collapsed in pain.

 

* * *

 

It would take the rest of the day to get the wounded back to the Maze. The Crochan and allied dead were laid together. Word spread that they would be cremated and sent on to the Darkness tomorrow night. The Council had yet to decide what to do with the enemy’s remains. There was disagreement between letting them to rot or burning them, without the normal ceremonial rites.

Manon was conflicted about the Blackbeaks who had died. She had no regrets fighting them, killing them. Not if it meant protecting her people, both Crochan and Ironteeth. But she was reluctant to forego the usual funerary rites. She’d known some of them, albeit distantly. She knew many had only been following the lies fed to them by the Matron.

She made her feelings known to both Aven and Aneira and asked them to relay it to the Council. But only if the Council seemed receptive to Manon’s opinions. She wanted to tread lightly, victory or not.

Both Aven and Aneira agreed to do all they could, then turned to head underground. 

Manon left with some of her coven to meet with Petrah, check on her Bluebloods, and hear about how they’d come to join forces with the Thirteen.

Out of nowhere, pain slashed through Manon and she doubled over. Sorrel and Kaya lunged for her while the others reacted, forming a barrier and looking for the source of attack.

But there was no attack. The enemy was dead. And Manon had suffered no lasting injuries.

Another wave of pain and she was on her hands and knees. Aven rushed back over as Sorrel kept asking Manon what was wrong.

Aven knelt and took Manon’s face in her hands. Her voice was shaky. “Manon. Tell me what is happening.”

Another wave. And another. Manon fell onto her side, rolling up into a fetal position. She kept herself from screaming, but tears were running freely from her eyes.

“Manon.” A command.

She looked up into Aven’s face and saw confirmation. Her grandmother knew what was happening. Knew what this was.

“Dorian,” Manon sobbed. “The bond. I can feel…” Pain choked off her words and this time, she did scream.

 

* * *

 

The Matron had merely been playing with him earlier. When he’d actually thought he stood a chance.

The pain of her magic was like nothing he’d ever felt before. In between the bolts of agony he had a fleeting thought that her magic must truly represent her soul. Only someone as hateful as her could conjure this kind of agony.

From where he lay, face down on rocks and dirt, he could feel her still walking around him. He thought about rising but… that seemed like too much work. Especially since he’d just get thrown to the ground again.

His power was almost gone. Everything he had left went into healing. It was keeping him alive just to withstand more.

So, Dorian didn’t move. Burst after burst of torturous pain hit him. He tried not to scream, but he knew was, even if he could no longer hear it. And as he wavered in and out of consciousness, he held a single image in his mind. Her shimmering golden eyes, a long white braid filled with flowers, her smile…

 

* * *

 

Manon writhed on the ground as the others stood by, helpless. She had to get to Dorian. But there was no way she could get there quickly, let alone stay on a wyvern. Aven knelt beside her, tears streaming down her round cheeks.

She wasn’t sure if she could die from what was happening to her, to him, but Aven’s face belied the gravity of the situation. Her eyes were pools of grief. She’d lost so many already - her mother and sisters, husband, son, and granddaughter. And though Manon was not afraid to die, she didn’t want her grandmother to suffer another loss.

During a brief respite from pain, Manon’s head cleared and for some reason, she thought of her great-grandmother, Queen Rhiannon. The Crochan Queen’s blood flowed through Manon. Her power too. She shared the strength of so many great witches within herself. At the realization, she felt her magic bubble to life. It had not disappeared, or been depleted. But the pain, the sheer terror at the knowledge that it was coming from Dorian through the cariad bond… She’d forgotten about it. Forgotten what she might be capable of.

Another bout of pain left Manon curled up. But she focused on the magic growing inside her. Focused on Dorian. Focused on the bond connecting them. She didn’t know what she was doing. Only knew she had to do it. She had to get to him. And with a sudden surge of her power, she fell into darkness.

It felt like falling through a storm. Wind raged around her in a funnel and she couldn’t tell which way was up. But within seconds, her feet hit ground, the force of the impact making her knees buckle. She rose quickly to a crouch, unsheathing a dagger from her hip. The scene before her overrode all the questions she had about what she’d just done.

Dorian was flat on the ground. Breathing. Alive. The Matron leaned over him. When she turned to see Manon mere feet away, her face dissolved into utter shock.

Manon felt the forge of her power flare. She took a step forward and growled, ”Get the fuck away from him.”


	22. Grateful

The Matron startled and turned towards Manon, wide-eyed and uncomprehending. At the sight of Dorian prone and unconscious, the Matron prowling above him, something snapped in Manon.

“Get the fuck away from him.”

Still staring and bewildered, the Matron didn’t move. Under the spell of some feral instinct, Manon loosed a dagger, sending it straight for her chest.

Her movement, slight as it was, broke the haze of confusion and the Matron jumped aside at the last second, causing the blade to miss its mark. She landed hard but was on her feet quickly, the dagger embedded just below her collarbone.

Manon swore under her breath at the near hit. Her magic was depleted from getting here. Though it was nowhere close to being gone, she needed some time before she could try to yield again.

The witch’s face was a grotesque mixture of pain, disgust, and confusion. “How? How are you here?”

“It seems I’m quite powerful,” Manon said, slowly circling to get the Matron away from Dorian and herself closer. “I’ve learned a few things since you saw me last.”

The Matron’s breath was coming in short gasps and with a wince, she touched a finger to the hilt of the dagger. Manon was not fooled. Her grandmother was in pain, yes. But the wound was not bad enough to warrant this display.

“You kept much to yourself. You and the other matrons.” She was almost between them. “Not just the magic. And the war.”

A nasty smile spread across the Matron’s face. “Don’t tell me he is your mate. That feeble human?” She barked a laugh. “So that’s how you came to be here. Did you feel what I did to him? Did you feel it when I placed the collar around his neck? I find I prefer him with it than without.”

Manon kept her face neutral but inside she raged. Dorian’s neck was obscured from view and she hadn’t noticed anything there. She forced herself not to turn around to check. Likely, this was all her grandmother’s usual bullshit. And Manon refused to play along.

With gritted iron teeth, the Matron grabbed the dagger and pulled it free of her body. Blue blood began to seep from the wound as she straightened to her full height. Manon briefly wondered if she was able to heal herself, then wished she had the ability to fully sense the Matron’s magic.

“After Rhiannon’s dying curse kept us from the Wastes, from Mala’s Temple and the key, I thought it a good idea to exact better control over the Ironteeth.” She flicked her hand in disdain. “The Bluebloods were too distracted with their pain tithes and praying to be of much concern. The Yellowlegs were well-kept under Baba’s thumb. And I had no problems with the Blackbeaks. Until your mother’s generation.”

Manon barely listened to the words as she tried to sense Abraxos. Although he felt close by, she couldn’t get a good enough read on him to determine if he was injured. She sent questions to Dorian, but he was in and out of consciousness and unable to reply.

“Did you ever wonder why so many of your Thirteen grew up without their mothers?” She began to count off on her fingers. “Farra. Lasair. Enora. Tegan. Carwen. Adelle.”

Running through the names in her head, Manon matched them to her sentinels. Faline and Fallon’s mother. Vesta. Lin. Imogen. Edda. Sorrel. They’d all died in childbirth. Or so they’d been told. Gods, they’d been so young when the Thirteen formed. Young and trusting. Malleable. Willing to do all that was asked of them.

“The others of their age group must not have found their mates. Or they were smart enough to keep quiet about it. Unfortunately for her, Lothian did not fall into either of those categories. And as for your second… I only let Asterin live because she was such a useful tool for keeping you in line.”

Those names were like a slap to Manon’s face, forcing her back to the present. She knew her parents had been mates. But Asterin and her hunter?

The Matron’s black eyes narrowed on her. “Why I thought you’d turn out any differently. I almost killed you when you were born. But I refrained. Your eyes…” The Matron trailed off, as if thinking of a fond memory instead of the near infanticide she just described.

Her golden eyes, the irises absent of any other color. The purity was such a rare and idolized feature among Ironteeth that the Matron had often boasted about Manon’s eyes. As if she’d had anything to do with it.

“I’d hoped they were a sign. I’d hoped that with my instruction perhaps you could overcome your inferior breeding.” Her voice grew heavy with disgust. “Hope is for fools.”

Manon’s face was hard, expressionless. She had little doubt that the Matron had considered killing her in the first few minutes of her life. A fleeting sense of gratitude at having been spared washed over her. Only to be replaced by nausea. The thought that she owed this monster anything, let alone gratitude…

She glanced back at Dorian and her shame eased. She was grateful. Grateful for her parents, who had somehow come together despite so many barriers. Grateful for her Thirteen. Abraxos. Aven, Annabee. And Dorian.

But Manon wasn’t sure if she could fully separate those feelings from this witch. She couldn’t tease apart the good from the bad. Neither could she reconcile those warring sides into something whole and unstained. Her grandmother. Her abuser. The witch who had raised her. The witch who had fed her lies. The witch who had taught her to fight and survive. The witch who had taught her to hate and kill.

She shook her head, trying to clear it, and when she looked up, the Matron was smiling at her. What had been an evil sneer had become something sad. Sympathetic.

“You were always such a disappointment Manon. The taint of your Crochan blood… I thought you’d defied it when you helped me kill your father.”

Just as she was about to laugh in the Matron’s face, distorted images floated through her mind. Not quite real memories. Rather, hazy visions from a nightmare. A bearded man on his knees, arms bound. Blue blood dripping from his mouth as he called out her name. Called her mother’s name. The Matron slapping him so hard he fell over, new gashes in his face adding to the growing pool of blood on the floor.

“All of those years exterminating your own kind.” The Matron began walking slowly towards her. “All of those heads you brought back, trying to impress me.” She leaned forward and whispered, “You were just never good enough Manon. Always falling short. You think I didn’t know. Every second of hesitation before administering a punishment. Every order of mine you ignored. Every disgusting Crochan child you refused to kill.”

Manon flinched and took a step backward. She thought she was going to vomit. The visions of the male were becoming more clear. No longer vague notions left over from a dream. She had been there. She had witnessed his death. Her father’s death. Had she helped to kill him?

“First your father. Then your sister. Is that bitch Aven still alive? Or did you manage to kill her too?”

 

* * *

 

Muffled sounds slowly turned into voices, then words. A moment later and Dorian was making sense of what he was hearing. _Manon_. She was here. Somehow he was hearing her voice. Forcing his eyes to open, he tried to push himself up. Gods, everything hurt. How the hell was he even still breathing?

His head fell back to the ground. Luckily, he’d only raised it a couple of inches.

He had no idea how Manon was standing in front of him but he knew he had to get up. He didn’t fool himself into thinking he could be of much help to her. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to just lay here as a liability.

 _Just need a few more seconds_ , he thought, eyes closing.

Conscious and no longer being tortured by the Matron, Dorian could feel his magic at work. Healing him, strengthening him. His reserves were dangerously low, but they were there.

He sensed a shield surrounding the two of them and realized it was coming from Manon. As he gauged her power, felt its enormity and complexity, he couldn’t help but smile. She had unlocked her magic. And it was beyond impressive. And probably how she had traveled so far so quickly.

Remaining silent and still, Dorian dipped into his own well of magic, amazed by how quickly it was rejuvenating him. After the witches attacked Rifthold, it had taken days for him to fully recover from his wounds. But he was still very new to his magic then. Now, after Aven’s instruction… it was like everything had been amplified. His control and focus made all the difference.

“… you’d overcome that when you helped me kill your father.”

 _No_. The single word rang through his mind giving him the motivation he needed. Dorian pushed himself onto his knees and scanned his surroundings. Manon stood between him and the Matron. No sign of Annabee and Abraxos.

“You were just never good enough Manon…”

 _NO_ , he thought again, sending it to Manon. But there was no reply from her, no reaction. The Matron knew just where to strike. Knew all of Manon’s triggers. He felt the instant she started to crumble. Saw some of the things she was remembering.

“First your father. Then your sister. Is that bitch Aven still alive? Or did you manage to kill her too?”

 _The hell with this_ , he thought.

Knowing it might drain what remained of his magic, Dorian stood quickly and sidestepped Manon. Water burst from his outstretched hands. Caught completely off guard, the Matron was forced back against a rock face. Within a second she was encased in a solid block of ice, the shock still visible on her face.

They didn’t have much time. The ice would hold her for a short while, but not long enough for them to escape on foot. And with Abraxos elsewhere, and probably injured, their options were few and far between. With his power so low, he needed her to stay together.

“Manon,” he whispered, taking her face in his hands.

She was dazed, as if not really there. He kept saying her name, staring into her dull eyes, praying to the gods he hated for her to come back to him.

“Please Witchling. Don’t believe her lies.”

For a moment, Manon sparked to life. Only to say, “But she isn’t lying. I was there. I watched him die. I did nothing to stop it.” Tears were filling her eyes, on the verge of spilling out. Her voice sounded so fragile, like she might break apart completely.

Dorian forced down a sob. He’d thought the torture he’d just been through was bad. That pain was nothing compared to this.

He knew from the images he’d seen in her thoughts that it wasn’t a lie. At least, not completely. The Matron was a master at incorporating just enough truth into her deceptions to make them believable. A young witchling was made to bear witness to a male’s torture and death. She would not have known the male was her father. Not until it served the Matron’s schemes.

“Listen to me,” he said, glancing quickly to check that the witch was still confined. “She is trying to disorient you. Control you. She’ll say anything to do that.” Her eyes seemed to gain some focus again.

“ _She_ is the only person to blame for his death. _She_ carried it out. _She_ kept the truth hidden until it could be used like a knife to your throat. And if you had known who he was then and tried to stop her, she would have killed you too. You were a child. You were powerless to stop her.”

Manon was blinking back tears. He could sense where her mind was drifting.

“You’re worried that you are like her? ” Dorian jabbed a finger towards the Matron. “ _She is nothing compared to you_. Everything she has ever done has been out of hate and fear. Everything serving as a means to her evil end.”

“But you…” He couldn’t keep the emotion from his voice. “You saved Annabee. You saved Abraxos. And the Blueblood heir. Elide. Asterin.”

“And you,” she said, her voice a bit stronger. “Several times actually.” Her eyes grew sad as she gingerly touched the new red mark around his neck.

Dorian took hold of her hand and huffed a relieved laugh. “I wanted to make sure you were paying attention. And yes. You’ve saved me more times than you know.” Kissing her forehead, he continued, “You didn’t save me and all the others for some twisted endgame or to serve your own purposes. You did it because it was right. You did it out of love. Something she cannot comprehend. You are not a heartless killer Manon. And right now, you are the one in control.”

 

* * *

 

 Manon tried to push all of her nightmares and memories and doubts back into a dark corner of her mind. Logically, she knew he was right about her father. She’d have been killed trying to protect him. Just as her Thirteen would have been killed if she had not put Rhiannon out of her misery.

Logic simply went by the wayside when it came to her relationship with the Matron. She was too raw, her feelings too visceral to be fully overcome by reason.

But Dorian’s last words kept repeating in her head. _She had the control now. She was not a heartless killer_. Even with decades of pulled strings and manipulation, she had never become her grandmother. And she never would. She controlled her life and her choices.

They both flinched as an ear-splitting CRACK echoed around them. Deadly shards of ice slammed into her shield. But before the ice and dust could settle, a ferocious blast of magic hit them. Manon threw her hands up to guard them.

The motion was instinctual, as it had been when she’d saved her clan from the Yellowlegs’ yielding. And just as it had done then, her unintentional burst of magic prevented them from being turned to dust.

The Matron’s magic broke apart Manon’s shield, sending both her and Dorian off balance. With his power and strength almost gone, he collapsed onto the ground.

When she turned back to her grandmother, Manon knew it was over.

The expenditure of energy had forced the Matron to her knees. Within a moment, she fell onto her side. Although the dagger wound was hidden beneath her clothing, the steady flow of blood was obvious. And that was something that could not be exaggerated or played up.

Manon’s first strike when she’d arrived must not have strayed as far as she’d thought. Nicking an artery or lung could prove just as fatal as a blade to the heart if given time. She closed the distance between them and stood over her grandmother.

The Matron was failing quickly. “Kill me Manon,” she hissed. Her laugh turned into a hacking cough, blue blood splattering her chest. “It will be the perfect addition to your long list of family kills.”

Manon didn’t move. She was keenly aware of the other daggers on her body. Wind Cleaver still strapped to her back. But she remained still.

“Is this mercy or cowardice?” the Matron demanded. “Even in this you are useless. A waste.”

As another coughing fit wracked the witch’s body, Manon thought about the question. Mercy or cowardice? Or something else?

“You want me to do it. Just so I can suffer from knowing I killed my grandmother,” Manon said with quiet calm. “I am better than that. Better than you. And you no longer control me.”

She wasn’t certain if she believed that completely. She didn’t think she’d ever be free of the dark voice that sometimes overtook her. But she knew this death was not a mercy. Left alone, the Matron would drown in her own blood. And more importantly, she knew she was not a coward.

Maybe leaving the Matron to die wasn’t any different than striking her down with a sword. After all, the end result was the same. But Manon thought that taking that extra step might just push her over the edge. She did not want to make the killing blow against another member of her family.

As she watched the Matron struggle to breath, Manon realized that a part of her still loved her grandmother. And maybe that’s what it came down to in the end. She didn’t know why, or how it was even possible considering all the evil the Matron had done. It felt wrong and dirty. And traitorous to the Thirteen, her parents, and Aven. But… it was still the truth.

Manon felt heavy with sadness and exhaustion. They still needed to find Abraxos and Annabee and see to their likely injuries. Without another word, she turned her back on her grandmother, and walked away.

Before she reached Dorian, she heard movement behind her. Whirling around, Manon came face to face with the Matron. She was lunging, frozen in mid-air, the bloody dagger in her outstretched hand. Inches from Manon’s chest.

Grunting, she tried to move, tried to force the blade closer. Nothing happened aside from twitching arms and narrowed eyes. Her blood continued to run from the chest wound however, forming a puddle around her feet.

Manon looked over at Dorian. His magic held the Matron in place. But judging from his quivering muscles and the intensity of his eyes, he was struggling to maintain it.

“She’s too powerful Manon,” he groaned. “She must be stopped. Now.”

Even knowing it had to be done and she had to be quick, she didn’t move. In that split second of hesitation, Manon’s mind seemed to travel back in time through her bloodline. As it had earlier, right before she’d yielded in battle. And as before, she thought of Rhiannon. The powerful Crochan Queen whose face she shared. Whose blood she shared.

A newfound strength of purpose washed through her and she turned to face the Matron. “I will kill you. Because I choose to. Not because you want me to.”

The Matron’s eyes flickered with some emotion, the corner of her mouth edging upwards. As if she thought Manon was simply lying. As if she had finally won.

With utter calm and command, she said, “I will kill you, but I will not put you out of your misery. You will spend eternity rotting and alone in the Darkness.”

Her golden eyes flashed with power and Manon continued in an icy tone she didn’t quite recognize. “You will be haunted knowing that those you killed are now at peace. Tormented knowing those who survived will live long, happy lives, never giving you a second thought. And you will suffer forever knowing future generations will think only of failure when they hear your name.”

Spitting blood, the Matron screamed, “I should have snapped your neck before you took a breath.” Her eyes were red and wild, filled with insane rage and pure hate. “That mercy was the biggest mistake I ever made.”

As the words sank in, Manon was filled with a storm of emotions. Grief and regret. Shame and anger. But through all of them, a sliver of gratitude. Hope. And with them came a spark of understanding.

She found that she could feel grateful for this witch’s mercy, regardless of how misguided it had been. Because it had led her to her family and friends, her mate. Because they’d shown her a different world was possible. Because she could now envision a future full of hope and love and peace.

“Thank you grandmother. That _mistake_ will be your only lesson that I take to heart.”

In the span of a heartbeat, Wind Cleaver was freed from its sheath and arcing through the air. As tears filled her eyes, Manon brought the sword down and sliced through the Matron’s neck.

Dorian released his magical hold. The body dropped first, the head tumbling down on top of it.

As a sob broke free from Manon, her knees buckled and she fell towards the ground. But before she landed, Dorian caught her and pulled her into his arms.


	23. Allies

Dorian held Manon close, turning slightly so her back was to the Matron’s body. He said nothing, just kept his arms around her as she wept. By the time her tears subsided, night was beginning to fall, bringing with it a bone deep cold from which they would need to find shelter.

“Manon,” he said. “We need to move. Can you walk?”

She nodded and pushed herself up. When he struggled, her mouth twitched into a too brief smile. She extended her hand and helped him stand. Not wanting to risk her seeing the body, he wasted no time leading her down the path towards where he’d last seen Abraxos and Annabee.

As they passed the charred and smoking body of a wyvern, and then another, he told her the barest details of what had happened. She didn’t seem ready to deal with all of it. But he explained how they had been escaping when the Matron used her magic to bring them down.

“How far?” she asked hoarsely, her grief now suppressed by the urgent need to find her niece and wyvern.

“I didn’t see where they came down,” he said. “But it was definitely below our landing site. Just beyond this drop off.”

They made their way slowly, Dorian cursing the pain and exhaustion delaying their progress. But Manon insisted that she too was going as fast as she could. He doubted that though, feeling the panic rising in her with every step.

As they crawled down a large rock field, being careful to avoid further injuries, Manon spotted a flicker of light in the nearby trees.

“Go,” Dorian said. “I’ll follow as quickly as I can.”

“I’m not leaving you,” she said firmly. “Not again. We don’t split up.”

The ferocity in her eyes made it clear she wasn’t going to budge, so he pushed on.

He hoped to all the gods and goddesses that they would come upon a warm fire, watched over by a healthy witchling and wyvern. But deep inside, he didn’t think that was likely. If either had been uninjured, he was certain they would have tried to find him by now.

Finally, they reached the tree line. The light was brighter, dancing and glimmering in the distance. Definitely a camp fire. But that’s not what made them hurry. It was the line of damaged trees, trunks half broken as if taken down from above.

Manon cried out their names as she ran. “Annabee? Abraxos?”

“Here,” Annabee’s voice rang out. “We’re here!”

They crashed into an unnatural clearing to find Annabee limping towards them. Her arm was bandaged and she looked like she’d been through hell. Manon’s presence here seemed to shock her, but otherwise, she was ok.

Manon ran to her, pulling her niece into a tight hug. Over her shoulder, Annabee caught Dorian’s eye, gave him a questioning look and mouthed a single word. _Matron_.

He shook his head, dragging a finger along his neck for emphasis. Then he asked, “Iskra?”

Annabee pulled away from Manon. “Dead. Only because of Abraxos.” She pointed back to the edge of trees, just beyond the light cast from the fire.

Dorian and Manon turned. There had been no movement at the mention of his name. No satisfied huff. No tail thump.

“He came down hard,” Annabee said. “I tried to set all the broken bones in his left wing. But...” She broke off, overcome with emotion. Tears fell down her face as she continued. “I don’t know enough about wyverns to be sure I did it correctly. And there are some breaks that were hard to set. He tried to get up and go back for you,” she said, looking back to Dorian. “But I used what little magic I had left to calm him until he fell asleep.”

Manon was frozen, unable to move towards him for fear of what she’d find. Sickeningly aware of the terror she felt, Dorian took her hand and gently led her over to where Abraxos lay.

As they got closer, and they saw the damaged wing, the cuts and lashes from his fights with the other wyverns... Manon’s hand flew to her face, choking back a sob. But she kept moving. Until she was next to him, kneeling at his head. She placed a shaking hand on his snout, reassuring herself that he was breathing.

"Abraxos,” Manon whispered. “I’m here.”

His eyes opened slowly and it was obvious he didn’t really see her. But with a deep inhale, he recognized her scent. He exhaled a heavy, relieved sigh, releasing a quiet whimper at the same time. His tail rose and fell weakly.

Manon gave up her fight and let the tears come, draping herself across his neck.

Dorian rested one hand on Manon’s back and the other on Abraxos. He turned back to ask Annabee, “Will he be ok?”

She sniffed and wiped her hand across her eyes and nose. “I think so. He needs rest more than anything. He’s lost blood. If I had any of my healing supplies with me, I could do more. But he’s very strong.”

As Manon sank onto the ground next to Abraxos, talking to him quietly, Dorian walked back to Annabee. Out of Manon’s hearing he asked, “Will he fly again?”

“If the breaks heal properly. He’ll need to be grounded for a while to make sure that happens.” She shook her head. “If he didn’t have that spider silk in his wings, they would have been shredded.”

Dorian looked at the bandage on her arm. More like a tourniquet. “Shit Annabee!” He led her over to the fire. “You need to sit. Is there anything I can do for that? Or your leg?”

She winced as he helped her down. “Same prognosis as Abraxos. Rest. And time for my magic to return. Once I get some food in me I’ll be better.” She looked around them, as if hoping a basket of bread and meat would suddenly appear.

They had nothing with them. No food, no water. No blankets or tents. Gods they’d been stupid dumping all of their supplies to ensure a speedier flight. Dorian said as much to Annabee, but she just nodded listlessly.

He looked over to check on Manon. Her back was propped up against Abraxos’s neck and she was still whispering to him, her hand gently stroking his skin.

“I’ll be back,” he said, standing back up. A quiet groan accompanied his movement.

“Where are you going?” Annabee asked, her brow knitted with concern.

Dorian smiled and bowed with a courtly flourish. “I am going to catch us some dinner.”

She stifled a laugh, but he wasn’t offended. If he could make her feel a little better, it was worth it. “I won’t be gone long,” he said more seriously.

Annabee watched Manon. “I’ll signal if anything happens.”

He stopped to tell Manon where he was going, giving her a long kiss before he headed into the woods.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Manon focused on Abraxos’s breathing. The steady up and down of his huge chest, the soft snorting noises coming from his nose. She was telling him about the battle at the Maze, rambling on about insignificant details, hoping the sound of her voice was a comfort to him.

And to be honest, she was trying to comfort herself as well.

She didn’t want to linger on any details from the past hours. Dorian’s torture and his pain reaching her through their bond. The dread she’d felt not knowing how to get to him. Her surprise arrival here to find her grandmother...

Before her guilt and shame could well up inside her, she began talking again. Babbling about some of the books she’d been reading before everything had gone to shit. Nothing else felt safe. A story from her childhood would involve her grandmother. A story about Asterin would remind her of what the Matron had done to her. Anything about her Thirteen... more reminders of the mothers they’d lost at the hands of their matron.

Manon stopped talking and dropped her head to her knees. There was nothing for it. She wouldn’t be able to stop the thoughts from coming, from eating her alive. Her entire body tensed, waiting for that dark, hateful voice, her grandmother’s voice, to take over.

“He is incredibly brave.”

She looked up to find Annabee struggling to sit down next to her. She jumped up and helped her niece sit against Abraxos.

“He saved my life. And he flew like a demon to get here.”

Manon stared into the fire and waited. Waited for the questions. _How did the matron die? Did you make her suffer? How could you possibly be upset about it?_   _  
_

“Is Grandmother ok? The rest of the clan?”

 _Gods_ , she thought, her stomach twisting. _Here I sit wallowing in self-pity, without a single thought for the others.  
_

“Manon? Are they ok?” Annabee’s voice cracked with fear.

“Yes,” she said, forcing herself to pay attention. “Yes. Aven is fine. Catrin is too. And Fallon. But we lost a lot. Maybe a few hundred.” Annabee’s eyes widened and Manon remembered she didn’t know about the Blackbeak and Blueblood reinforcements they’d had on their side. “We had last minute help from loyal Ironteeth. They lost many when the Yellowlegs started yielding.”

“What happened?” Annabee whispered, a cloud of concern settling over her face.

Manon repeated her story. So very grateful for the distraction and company. So grateful for the solid wyvern at her back and his steady breaths.

When she reached the part about her magical travel here, Manon asked, “Is that winnowing? Do other Crochans have that ability?”

Annabee thought about it for a while. “It’s rare. No one I know can winnow.” She bobbed her head towards Manon. “Well, until now. But Grandmother’s sister Damson could do it. It wouldn’t surprise me if it’s in the bloodline.” She threw a stone she’d been playing with into the fire. “One more thing to skip my generation.”

Manon huffed a tired laugh. “I didn’t have magic until a month ago. Maybe it just takes time.”

“Maybe,” she replied, doubtful. “I’ll be happy to skip the visions. But winnowing anywhere you want? That would be amazing!”

“I wanted to vomit,” Manon said dryly, eliciting a laugh from the witchling.

They were quiet for a while, adding wood to the fire when it started to die down. The stillness between them grew awkward and Manon knew Annabee wanted to ask her. So before she could make an excuse or talk herself out of it, she blurted out, “I killed the Blackbeak Matron.”

Annabee looked at her with a neutral face. No pity. No hate. No glee. “You had to. It was the only way to stop her.”

“You weren’t there,” Manon said, more harshly than she’d intended.

“It doesn’t matter. She wanted to exterminate our people. She had to be stopped.”

 _Our_. _Our people_.

Manon stared at her niece, an ache blooming in her chest. Wondering if she’d used the words on purpose or if they had come naturally to her. The reason didn’t really matter though. It was the sentiment that was important. Unable to form words of thanks, she reached out and took Annabee’s hand. Her niece squeezed it tight and they fell back into a more peaceful silence.

Eventually, Annabee smirked and nodded towards the forest. “How likely is it that he’ll return with something to eat?”

With a show of great offense, Manon asked, “You dare doubt the King of Adarlan’s hunting ability?”

“He’s behind me isn’t he?”

“He is. And the rabbits he snared might only be enough to feed two people,” Dorian said. “And a wyvern.”

After they ate, Dorian led each of them to a small stream he’d found nearby. Without containers to carry water in, they had to walk to it. That posed a problem for Abraxos. Until Manon managed to turn a hollowed out tree into a makeshift trough that she could take to him. He perked up considerably after drinking, but he was still weak.

Manon took first watch, keeping an eye out for danger and an eye on Abraxos. She was exhausted, but she’d been through less physically than either Dorian or Annabee, who slept next to the fire.

Dorian stayed huddled up next to her, both of them against Abraxos. The little wyvern rested easier with her touching him, so she refused to leave his side.

With the others asleep and no more distractions, her mind had no where else to turn but to her grandmother. She knew she’d had no other choice. Even if she’d offered mercy at the end. But that did nothing to stem the doubt. Nothing to wash her hands free of the blood which seemed to still coat them. Nothing to give her hope for living with what she’d done.

“Did I tell you what my father said to me before he died? Before I killed him?”

Manon looked down to where Dorian lay beside her. She’d thought he was asleep. His face was creased as if in pain. When she placed her hand on his cheek, the tension left but his eyes remained troubled.

“Aelin and I burned the valg from him. I’d never known him without it. I didn’t even recognize his real voice.” He paused for a moment, lost in the memory. “He said he spelled magic away right after I was born. To protect me. To hide me and my power from Erawan.” He pushed himself up so he was sitting beside her. “I was so sure he was lying. So certain that he was saying anything and everything to save his miserable life.”

Manon asked, “And now? You doubt yourself?”

“I doubt myself every day. How could I not?” Dorian said, staring into the fire. “I’m no longer certain it was all lies.” He shook his head. “Maybe that’s just a result of passing time, fading memories, I don’t know. But I haven’t been able to think of any other legitimate reason to explain the disappearance of magic.” With a deep sadness that almost broke her heart, he said, “I think... I think he did love me. Not the part at the mercy of the valg. But... _him_. The real him. Maybe.”

He finally looked at her and she saw the tears forming in his eyes. “I get through it by reminding myself of the millions of people who suffered at his hands. _Millions_ Manon. Millions enslaved, killed, persecuted. I did nothing to prevent it.”

She started to speak but he stopped her.

“No. Don’t excuse it. I might not have been able to stop all he did, but I could have done more. So... If becoming a patricide saved others’ lives…” He sniffed and looked back to the fire. “If living with that guilt saved lives, my suffering is small in comparison. I deserve worse.”

“Your suffering is not small Dorian,” she whispered. “And it’s not deserved.”

He faced her again and his eyes were like blue flames. “Then neither is yours.”

Manon blinked, having no reply to his words. Nothing to counter his faith in her. For it was the same faith she had in him.

“I know a part of you still loved her. And by the gods _, I know_ how that feels. You will have hard days.” His voice grew softer. “But you will get through them by remembering Aven. And Annabee. And your Thirteen. And Abraxos. And all the others who believe in you. All of the people she will no longer hurt.” He brushed a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. “And you will get through them _with me_.” Dipping his forehead to touch hers, he breathed, “Anything you need. Don’t ever forget that.”

As Dorian wiped away the tears she hadn’t felt falling, Manon almost lost herself in his eyes. The light kiss he placed on her lips brought her back.

“I’m sorry I never asked about your father,” she said. “I should have.”

“No,” he said. “It’s not something I’ve wanted to talk about.” He shrugged as he pulled her into his arms. “I still don’t. But... I think I need to. Not just for your sake.”

Manon nodded. “Whenever you are ready then.” She brought his hand to her lips and kissed each finger, bringing a true smile to his face.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They stayed in the clearing for a few days, living off of what Dorian and Manon could hunt. Resting, healing, and refilling their stores of magic. Abraxos barely ate anything, but with all of them tending to his wounds, he was making clear progress. And, with the exception of the Matron’s death, they exchanged the stories of what had happened since they’d parted ways days ago.

Annabee’s tale of defeating Iskra had them both on the edge of their seats. And this time, whenever his name was mentioned, Abraxos gave approving snorts and huffs, bathing in the attention and praise they gave him.

“You’re a much better storyteller than your aunt,” Dorian whispered loudly when Annabee had finished, making both witches roll their eyes at him.

But he held off on the jokes when Manon completed her story of the battle at the Maze.

Dorian kept prodding her for details about her yielding, trying to think of an explanation for her rare control. Her ability to determine who succumbed to her killing power reminded him of when he’d destroyed his father’s castle. He had only killed those members of court who’d been allied with his father, or who were valg-possessed. Though, he hadn’t done that consciously.

“I wonder if Aelin has that ability,” he mused. “With her fire magic. Aside from just controlling its direction.”

Manon had become too focused on Abraxos to devote much thought to the subject. But Dorian knew it meant something. At least, it felt like it did. Such immense destructive power in the hands of a few... The thought was troubling. He didn’t think it mattered that those ‘few’ included himself and his mate. Or a trusted ally.

His thoughts were interrupted by a screech from overhead.

The three of them rushed for cover, only to realize it wasn’t necessary. Manon recognized Lechen and Annabee pointed out Banshee in the group of wyverns flying above them. In an instant, they were running for the edge of the forest, hoping to flag down their friends.

It wasn’t long before they were spotted and the group flew in a wide arc to come around and land as close to the tree line as they could. The wyverns all belonged to members of the Thirteen, but they were joined by Aven, Alastair, and a small contingent of Crochan warriors.

It quickly became a tangled mess of questions, hugs, whoops, and tears. Dorian laughed watching the Thirteen converge on Manon. And before he knew it, Sorrel took his hand and pulled him into the midst of the celebration.

After reuniting with Aven and Fallon, Annabee grabbed Alastair and his bag of supplies, leading him back to their camp to examine Abraxos. But soon after, everyone followed, leaving the wyverns at the landing site and hauling food and supplies into the woods.

Annabee and Manon anxiously awaited the healer’s diagnosis. But he found no other serious injuries and proclaimed Annabee’s care to be excellent. While the superficial damage had been improved by Dorian’s magic, the breaks in his wings would just take time to heal.

“It’s a good thing we brought plenty of provisions,” Sorrel said. “We’re just the vanguard. We’ll be joining up with the rest once they get themselves organized.”

“The rest?” Dorian asked.

Sorrel’s brilliant grin brought out his own as she replied, “The Witch Army? The one you and Manon requested? Blackbeaks, Bluebloods, and Crochans. I think over a thousand bloodthirsty witches on wyverns and brooms should put a dent into Erawan and Maeve’s forces. Don’t you?”

Faline and Lin let loose a wild cry that soon had the rest of the Thirteen cheering and the others laughing.

Dorian caught Manon’s eye across the camp. His smile dimmed a bit at her expression and he made his way through the group of witches. He took her  back behind Abraxos so they’d have some privacy.

“Manon, what’s wrong?” She tried to brush it off but he knew better.

Eventually, she gave in and said, “I know we started all this to get an army. And I know we have a good plan for using the keys.” She gazed over her wyvern’s long neck to where the others talked and laughed. He followed her stare and knew what she was about to say.

“I don’t want to lose them,” she said. “Not the Thirteen. Not the Crochans or Ironteeth. And not my new family.” Trying to dismiss her own concern, and with an unconvincing smile, she said, “So this is what happens when you gain a heart.”

Dorian frowned, watching her as she watched the others. He thought back to that day on the beach in Eyllwe, awed by how far they’d come in such a short period of time. Back then, he never would have expected this level of openness and vulnerability between them. He might not have admitted it at the time, but with hindsight, he recognized the beginnings. Their fierce love and trust that had grown from seeds of attraction and mutual respect.

Now, Manon’s face was set with determination. He knew her mind raced with strategies and schemes to combine all of the different tools at their disposal - warriors, brooms, wyverns, magic, wyrdkeys.

“It’s war,” he said bluntly, bringing her attention back to him. “We will lose people we love. But, they’ve all chosen to be a part of it, just as we have. And like us, they would rather risk their lives fighting against evil than do nothing.”

Manon nodded, a sad smile on her face.

“But,” Dorian went on, “from what you told me about the battle, I’d say this group is going to be one hell of a force to be reckoned with.” He smirked as he added, “I’m also quite powerful Witchling. Infinite raw magic. In case you forgot.”

Manon rolled her eyes at him but couldn’t hide the smile on her lips as she kissed him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Later that night, Manon motioned for Sorrel and Edda to join her outside of the camp. She wanted an update on where their new army stood. But first, and more importantly, she needed to know what had happened to Vesta. While they had eaten, Sorrel and Manon had made the decision to wait for Asterin and Briar so the entire clan could be present for a remembrance ceremony. But Manon was still in the dark about how she had died.

“When we reached Morath,” Edda began, “we had to stay completely hidden. The Matron had the place locked down and there were sentries flying everywhere within a five mile radius.”

Manon tried not to flinch at the Matron’s name. While Edda hadn’t noticed, Sorrel did. Her Third missed nothing. As usual.

“We couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t sending them out looking for us. Why the security was so tight just around Morath. So...” Edda dropped her eyes. “So, Vesta sent me in. We thought maybe it was because they were guarding the key. But...” She trailed off, frowning. Manon saw her Shadow’s hand tremble.

“What happened?” Manon asked.

Her eyes still avoiding Manon’s, Edda said, “I failed. I don’t know how... how they found me. But I was captured by some Yellowlegs. Taken to the Matron.”

Manon’s insides churned with rage, imagining what must have happened next. They were quiet for a while and she was about to tell Edda that she didn’t have to continue when the witch spoke.

“She didn’t plan for me to live. While I was being interrogated... she... bragged about their new weapons. How they were going to be sent to Rifthold soon. Something about mirrors. Capable of taking out entire armies.”

Manon’s eyes flashed to Sorrel, who looked back with a heavy, somber expression.

“I wasn’t going to last much longer when a Blueblood got into the dungeon where I was being kept and helped me get out.” Edda coughed, trying to cover up the emotions threatening to escape. “We got free and I found the others except... Except Vesta had...”

Manon understood. “Vesta had gone in for you. But she'd been caught too.”

The Shadow nodded. “She should have left. When she knew I’d been captured. She should have taken the others and gone to the rendezvous site,” she said. “It’s all my fault.”

Sorrel put a hand on Edda’s back. “None of us would have left you in there.”

“No,” Manon said firmly, her heart filling with love for her fire-haired sentinel, all of her Thirteen. “It was not your fault Edda. And Sorrel is right. Vesta made the right call.” After a moment, she asked, “Can you tell me what happened next?”

Edda took a deep breath, getting herself back under control. “We tried to get her out but had to be careful. They knew we were in the area. I was able to make contact with Lyra, the Blueblood who helped me escape. She offered her help. But by the time she was able to find out anything, it was too late. Iskra had taken Vesta from Morath. Blueblood spies reported that Vesta had already been killed. We followed, but we didn’t get far.” She looked over to Sorrel.

“We met them a few days from Morath,” Sorrel said. “It was my decision to turn back.”

Manon raised her eyebrows, biting back a retort for not following Iskra. For not catching her and preventing the Crochan massacre in Berwyn. But she reminded herself that Sorrel wouldn’t have known their plan, or destination.

“I had my reasons Manon,” Sorrel said firmly. “Once I heard about the mirrors, and about the help from the Bluebloods, I thought it best to go back and see what damage we could inflict.”

“You destroyed the mirrors?” Manon breathed.

Sorrel sighed. “Not all of them. The timing of their shipments down the river was staggered and we missed the first few. But we were able to take out two. With the help of Petrah. She’d been organizing the Bluebloods and sympathetic Blackbeaks since we’d all left.”

“And what of her Matron?”

“She didn’t hinder things, but she didn’t approve of Petrah’s rebellion. When Iskra killed her own matron to take over the Yellowlegs and ally with the Blackbeak Matron...” Sorrel gave a wicked laugh. “I think she realized she was in over her head. She stepped down and named Petrah the Blueblood Matron.”

“Shit,” Manon muttered, remembering Annabee’s fight with Iskra. It made more sense now. How Iskra had magic. Why she was even with the Matron. “She’s dead by the way,” Manon added. “Iskra. If you want a good story, go ask Annabee about it.”

Both witches laughed. “Why do you think everyone is celebrating?” Edda asked, nodding back to the camp. “Of course it’s mostly because the Ma-”

“So...” Sorrel interrupted, and Edda seemed to finally notice the look on Manon’s face. “When their forces left Morath in such huge numbers, we joined with Petrah and the other Blackbeaks and followed.” She said it with a casualness that belied their role in the battle as the turning point away from utter disaster.

Manon bowed her head to Sorrel, in appreciation for both the diversion in conversation, and the saving of their asses.

But as she ran through the new information, Manon frowned. “How many were left at Morath? Who’s in charge there now?”

“I can’t say how many were already stationed there,” Sorrel said, “but they sent the remaining force to Rifthold. That was maybe close to a thousand? As for who is leading them, I suppose the new heirs.”

Manon couldn’t stop the look of surprise. As if the Matron wouldn’t have named a successor immediately after she’d fled. “Who?” she asked.

Sorrel shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m sure Petrah does. If their orders were to report to Erawan though...” She shrugged. “He’s in charge. They won’t know their matrons are gone. They’ll defer to him.”

Manon wasn’t so sure about that, wondering if the magic a matron possessed passed directly to her heir upon death. Ultimately, it didn’t really matter. Sorrel was right. They’d aligned themselves with Erawan. She didn’t think any of those witches would challenge him.

“Petrah is coming with the others?” Manon asked. Sorrel nodded. “And how many with her?”

“Oh, I’m confident we have the numbers,” Sorrel replied. “And the ability. The Crochans’ brooms are in no way a weakness against enemy wyverns.”

“But...,” Manon coaxed.

Sorrel’s face hardened. “But. They have those mirrors. Even without a full-strength matron to wield them, they are lethal. Erawan or that Fae Queen could easily use them. Get enough witches together to yield at one time next to one...” She trailed off, the implication clear.

Manon sat in silence, contemplating all she’d learned. Long enough for Edda to excuse herself and return to the others. She would never admit it, not even to Dorian, but she’d forgotten about those damn mirrors. So many things had been overshadowed by their search for the Crochans and the key. 

Sorrel’s quiet voice interrupted her thoughts. “I heard what you did Manon. How you yielded.” Her expression was cold-blooded as she said, “If we can’t take those weapons out of play, then we’ll need to make sure that it’s our side who uses them.” And with that, Sorrel stood and returned to the camp.

Manon followed soon after, even though she knew she wouldn’t sleep that night. There were too many thoughts, plans, what-ifs coursing through her head. When she settled in against Dorian and Abraxos, and he asked her what was wrong, she hesitated, not wanting to keep him from sleep too.

But she told him, and judging from his expression, she wasn’t alone in the forgetting. Going back on what she’d told herself, she admitted to her own faulty memory, drawing a much needed laugh from both of them.

In their bed roll next to Abraxos, they had a hushed conversation, agreeing that the other witches, Ironteeth and Crochan, would need to be included in any discussion about how to deal with the threat. That seemed to lessen her anxiety. Her trust in Aven and the Crochans, and now Petrah, serving as a balm to her worry.

 _It’s strange to have so many allies_ , Manon thought with wonder. She’d never before had them outside of the Thirteen. And now, she had a mate, a niece and grandmother, Crochan and Blueblood friends. An army.

Her earlier fears had not altogether subsided. But they were being tamped down as she realized just how strong this army was. Each person, each group playing a vital role in the fight to come.

And in that hazy stage right before sleep, Manon’s last thoughts were of what might await them all after this war. She didn’t know which of them would be there to see it, but she hoped they would be left with a world of peace.

 


	24. Remade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is pretty long. And it’s the final official chapter.
> 
> I say official because a while back, @itach-i (tumblr) asked for my version of a specific plot line involving Manon and Dorian. I wrote it then as an epilogue to Child of Peace and it’s been sitting in my drafts waiting for this story to end. But I realized there needed to be a part between this one and the epilogue. And then that one required two before it. I now have four epilogues started (which will be posted in the next few weeks). And one of those may be turning into an Asterin-centered side fic all its own. I don’t know yet.
> 
> What I do know is that I’m having a hard time letting this go.
> 
> Thank you to @itach-i for her amazing contribution to this chapter (in italics, you’ll see it, I’m not spoiling it here). It was her brilliant idea and I pressured her into writing it. She is the best!

 

* * *

A little over two weeks had passed since the battle, since the deaths of Iskra and the Blackbeak Matron, since Manon’s reunion with the Thirteen and her Crochan family. Some of the witches were becoming restless, ready to meet up with the bulk of their forces and move on to Orynth. But the group was stuck on the Anascaul mountainside. Abraxos was recovering quickly considering all the damage his wing had suffered. But healing fractured bones was still a slow process.

Manon was glad for the busy camp and the distractions it offered. But one new development was weighing heavily on her. She had not yet spoken to Aven about her confrontation with the Matron.

 _How can I possibly face her now_ , she thought, helping Alastair remove a splint from her wyvern’s last digit.

The Matron’s taunts about her helping to kill her own father still flitted through Manon’s mind, waking and sleeping. It had been an obvious attempt to confuse and control her. To break her. _Attempt successful_ , Manon thought darkly, bile rising in her throat as she saw a flash of a bloodied, bearded man calling her name. She stepped back from Abraxos, letting the healer take over before she did something to worsen the injury in her daze.

After their initial relieved greeting when she’d arrived, Manon had been avoiding her Crochan grandmother. There were times when she wanted to tell her everything that had happened. Only to be stopped by the fear that, once the truth was revealed, she would lose the only loving mother-figure she’d ever known.

Dorian knew what she was doing. Likely knew why as he could sense most of it. They’d been learning how to control what they communicated through the bond so they could maintain some privacy. But when emotions were intense, thoughts obsessive… Things leaked through.

His understanding of how she felt couldn’t be blamed solely on their mating bond. Dorian knew because he’d been there. Was still there, working through his own experience with his father. His immense guilt not only for killing his father, but for feeling justified in doing so.

Perhaps most importantly, they loved each other above and apart from the bond. And that brought with it an attentiveness that she had not expected. Asterin had certainly never mentioned it. But then, she’d never had much of a chance to live with her mate.

And with that single thought, her hate for the Matron bubbled up within her. Forcing aside any grief or doubt or self-loathing she associated with the witch.

That seemed to be the standard for her these past days. Undulating wildly back and forth between countless emotions. One contradicting the other. All of them returning her to a listless, depressed state.

Manon knew she needed to talk to Aven. If for no other reason than to assure the kindly witch that she had done nothing to put Manon in her current condition.

“There is one more to come off, then he can take a test flight,” Alastair said. Abraxos thumped his tail in anticipation, then glowered as the healer amended, “In another day or two.”

Manon patted his nose. “If you continue to rest, perhaps someone will bring you some flowers again.” He gave her a look of pure innocence before settling back down.

Alastair left as she moved to fuss over a still-healing wound on Abraxos’s shoulder. Manon was so intent on reapplying the bandage that she didn’t notice the presence behind her.

“He’s quite a strong little beast,” Aven said with a smile. Manon turned to face her grandmother, but remained silent, unsure of what to say. After a long, awkward moment, Aven said, “Since we will be leaving soon, I’d like to take you and Dorian to fetch the wyrdkeys from the temple.” She added quickly, “If you’re up to it.”

“Of course,” Manon said, trying to hide her relief that she wouldn’t be alone with Aven. “When?”

Aven ran her wrinkled hand along Abraxos’s neck, eliciting what could only be described as a purr. Both witches laughed at the sound.

“Tomorrow morning?”

Manon nodded and turned back to the bandage, ashamed of her rude behavior.

Yet, she didn’t reply as Aven simply said, “Tomorrow then,” before heading back to help with dinner.

 

* * *

 

Aven couldn’t stop staring at Manon as they ate around the campfire that night. Of course, any time she was near her granddaughter, she stared. How could she not when Manon had the lovely face of her own mother.

She supposed she’d done a decent job of hiding her reverent attention. Though Dorian often caught her. As he did just now, giving her a knowing smile. Which she answered with a tip of her head, and by looking elsewhere. Though her amazement was sometimes noticed, she made more of an effort to hide the pain and grief that inevitably followed.

The first time Aven had glimpsed Manon being carried into the Maze, she felt as if the air had been stolen from her lungs. She had stumbled into the wall, willing herself to breathe, stay upright, and not crumple in shock. The witchling’s hair was not the ebony shade of Rhiannon’s, and her eyes had been closed, but her face… Her face was identical.

Well, almost identical. Upon seeing Manon up close, Aven noticed subtle differences from her mother’s features. The shape of her eyes, the fullness of her lips, the narrow edge to her nose. Which made her wonder, not for the first time, how beautiful Lothian must have been in person.

But more than anything it was the _color_ of her eyes. By the Goddess, Manon’s eyes were like nothing she’d ever seen before. Crochan eyes tended towards various shades of brown, sometimes hazel. But the eyes of this witch… the granddaughter she had never been sure she’d meet… Her eyes were pure flame. Not just in color, but they sparked with intensity and purpose too.

And right now, those eyes were dull, reflecting not a glint of the dancing firelight. Lifeless and sad despite the occasional smiles and laughs. Aven glanced to Dorian, who was still watching her watch Manon. He knew what was wrong, what was eating Manon from the inside out.

Hoping to not be too conspicuous, Aven gave him a hard, pointed look. The look of a mother, or grandmother in this case, who was done with being kept in the dark. After a sharp, little nod over her shoulder, Aven rose and made her way out of camp. She would give him some time to slip away. But she would not sit around and watch Manon fade away.

Aven didn’t have to wait long. Dorian joined her by the stream ten minutes later, hands in his pockets, a resigned look on his face. If she’d been in a lighter mood she would have chuckled at the way he seemed to be expecting a scolding.

“Listen Aven,” he said, before she could speak. “Manon needs to talk to you about it. Not me. I don’t think it’s my place.”

Aven sighed. “Can you at least tell me if it’s just what happened with the Matron? Or is there something more?”

The air suddenly chilled and Dorian leaned down to look her in the eye. “ _Just_? _Just_ the Matron?” His anger was loud enough that he looked behind him to make sure no one would overhear them.

Cutting him off before he could continue, Aven said sharply, “You know I didn’t mean it that way. I’m well aware of the evil in which she dealt. She’s responsible for everything I’ve lost.” Her words seemed to placate him. But they raised her own enmity and for some reason, she added, “And everyone I’ve lost.”

Dorian’s face stilled, becoming a blank mask.

 _He’s an awful actor_ , Aven thought, as the realization of what he was hiding dawned on her. She didn’t want to say it, let alone think it. But she forced the question from her mouth anyway.

“Liam?” Her voice cracked when she said her son’s name. She couldn’t even speak the two syllables without breaking.

The despair that swept over his face was all the confirmation she needed.

Dorian reached for her, grabbing both of her arms. She looked up at him in surprise, not realizing she’d almost fallen to the ground. But he caught her and held her steady. _Just as he’s done for Manon_ , she thought idly. _And she for him_.

“I’m sorry Aven.” He sounded it, his voice thick with emotion. “She… I’ve only seen vague images. Accidentally. Through the bond. She blames herself but.. she was so young. There’s nothing she could have done.” Now his voice cracked in a mixture of anger and pain. “And she hasn’t spoken of it since that day.” When Manon killed her Blackbeak grandmother.

With a questioning look, he let go of her and dropped his head, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I refuse to push her on this,” he continued, looking at her with such intensity, she almost flinched. “And I don’t think you should either. Not yet anyway.”

Aven got the distinct impression that he came to this decision from experience. Personal experience.

“I am sorry. I know the two of you need to talk. I can’t stop you. I just…” he trailed off, sighing deeply, as though his heart was breaking from his mate’s pain.

 _It probably is_ , Aven thought. _No doubt some of his own mixed in with it_. Then she glanced back towards their camp. Back to her tent and the treasure hidden inside. Is it time? she wondered.

She tried to smile for him but she didn’t have the strength. “I will speak to her.” His mouth opened to protest. “But,” she added quickly. “Only to let her know I am here if or when she needs me.” He watched her for a moment then laid a hand on her shoulder in thanks. And that touch cemented her decision. Knowing Manon had Dorian, had her Thirteen here now too…

Aven knew that it was time. Time for Manon to meet her parents.

Too short to reach him, she signaled for Dorian to lean down and kissed his cheek. But he surprised her with a hug. The warmth and compassion of his embrace almost made her sob. But she kept her tears at bay until he pulled away.

“Go back to camp Dorian.” He offered to stay but she waved him away “I need… I’d like to be alone for a while,” she said. With a nod, he turned and left.

Aven walked further up the stream until she found a good spot. Then she sat down and cried. Cried for everyone she’d lost. Her mother and father, her sisters, her husband, son, granddaughter…

She cried for all that had been taken from Manon. Done to Manon. All she had endured. And all that waited for them in this war.

She felt so tired. And they’d barely started this journey.

When the tears began to subside, she leaned back to look up into the sky. Only parts were visible through the trees, but it was enough to fill her with awe. Watching as clouds slowly obscured the moon and stars, Aven was reminded of something her mother had once told her. Something she’d repeated to Fallon not that long ago.

_Regardless of how dark things may seem, the goodness in the world will conquer the bad. It may take time, but it’s worth fighting for._

Hope.

Such a core belief of Queen Rhiannon Crochan that it was present in everything she said and did. To the point that her cynical daughter couldn’t help but come to believe in it herself.

As Aven stood, the clouds broke apart, allowing what little moonlight could filter through the leaves to sparkle on the water’s surface. The light, and the memory, made her smile, even as the tears were still drying on her cheeks.

 

* * *

 

Manon woke to a bright, crisp, sunny morning. Usually she rose with the dawn, but that hadn’t been happening lately. Dorian never woke her and she thought about chiding him for letting her sleep in too long. But she knew it was his way of helping. She needed the extra rest. Especially after a night of tossing and turning.

Joining some of the other late risers for breakfast, she wondered if Aven would take them to the temple today. She’d postponed it two days ago and hadn’t mentioned it since. Manon supposed her grandmother was waiting until Abraxos was ready to fly so they would not have to linger with all three keys in their possession. On that thought, she went to find Alastair and check on her wyvern’s flight status.

The healer had removed the final splint yesterday. And as they neared Abraxos, she could tell he was anxious to be up and airborne. The shiny membrane of his wings was rippling with anticipation.

Alastair laughed and asked Manon to help him with the final examination. All the broken bones had healed perfectly except for one. But the healer didn’t think it would be a problem. “It may pain him after long flights,” he said. “But it shouldn’t interfere with his flying. Massage and a salve for pain should do the trick whenever it acts up.”

Manon scowled at Abraxos, who was giving her a smug look, no doubt thinking of all the extra attention he would now receive. But as soon as his tail thumped a few times, Manon couldn’t resist a smile. “Can he go up today?” she asked.

“I don’t see why not. But I would take it easy. Nothing too daring. No acrobatics,” Alastair said, looking more at Abraxos than her.

When he left, Manon moved quickly to gather the saddle and gear, just as excited as Abraxos to get into the sky. But when she walked around the wyvern, she came face to face with Aven. The smile her grandmother wore conveyed little happiness, causing Manon’s heart to skip a beat.

“Is something wrong?” Manon asked, glancing around to see where Dorian was.

“No, witchling, nothing is wrong. Dorian is helping Sorrel with the other wyverns.” Aven came closer to her and Manon noticed a package under her arm. “I hoped to speak to you,” she said. “Privately.”

Manon’s stomach dropped. _And here it is_ , she thought. Finally. Aven would ask about the Matron and Manon would have to lie about her father. Or tell the truth and admit to her role in it.

Aven nodded to Abraxos. “Actually, I thought maybe I could join you? The journey here was my first time on a wyvern but… I’d be honored to take a ride on your Abraxos.” He beamed and puffed up to almost twice his size at the words.

Although she still felt sick over their inevitable conversation, Manon would not refuse. Aven didn’t deserve this treatment. Resting a hand on her shoulder, she said, “It would be our honor to take you.” Abraxos snorted in agreement.

They flew for only about an hour before circling back to the camp. Abraxos was doing well, keeping the flight smooth for his second rider, but Manon wanted to be sure not to push him. He had other injuries he’d recovered from, not just the broken bones. Aven had not spoken, but she was clearly enjoying the views and the wind in her face.

Not far from camp, Aven spotted the small meadow where everyone had been picking wildflowers for Abraxos and asked if they could land there. Manon obliged, steeling herself for what came next, all of the glee from this flight ebbing away.

When they landed, Abraxos immediately began rolling in the tall grasses and flowers, releasing a sigh that seemed to have been buried inside him for years. It reminded her of when she’d first freed him from his cage under the mountains in the Ferian Gap. She continued to watch him, stalling, not wanting to look at Aven.

“I won’t ask you,” Aven said quietly, causing Manon to finally turn and face her. “I’m here if you ever decide to talk about it. About… any of it,” she said. “Any part of your life.”

Aven walked up to her and laid a small hand on her cheek. “But I will say this. You are my granddaughter Manon, and I love you. Nothing you ever say or do will change that.” Her warm brown eyes, glistening with tears, bore into Manon’s as she added, “Nothing you have done will change that.”

“You…” Manon swallowed, shaking her head. “You don’t know what I’ve done,” she rasped.

“Maybe,” Aven said, gently taking hold of her face, letting Manon’s tears fall over her hands. “But I know what you haven’t done. I know what you could not prevent. And I know you have lived through horrors that most people can never imagine. And I know that I love you.”

Unable to stop herself, Manon collapsed against Aven and sobbed. Her grandmother’s arms moved to embrace her. Such strong arms for a small witch. And she wrapped hers around Aven. They held each other for a long time, both quietly mourning the loss they weren’t yet able to put into words.

After the tears slowed and they could breathe a little easier, they broke apart to find Abraxos watching them. He crept closer and nuzzled both of them with his snout, causing a few more tears to fall between quiet laughs.

As they finally wiped their faces dry, Manon said, “I promise to come to you. When… when I’m ready.” Aven only nodded, leaving Manon grateful that her need for time and space was so easily accepted.

When Manon turned to mount Abraxos, Aven reached for her arm and said, “Wait. I have something for you.” Then she climbed up and reached into a saddle bag for the bundle she’d been holding earlier. Manon had forgotten about it.

“And there’s something else I have to tell you,” she said, making her way down off of Abraxos. “Well,” she smiled to herself, “I was ordered to tell you. When you found your way to us.”

“Ordered?” Manon asked, trying to imagine anyone ordering Aven around. Anyone except maybe Queen Rhiannon herself.

“The last thing your sister said to me before she left was that you would have to choose.“

After a moment’s hesitation, Manon asked, “Choose what?”

“If you would be remade.”

 _They made you this way… They have made you into monsters_.

Manon swayed, but Aven caught her. “She didn’t explain it to me but said you’d understand what it meant. But,” she paused, emotion threatening to overtake her again. “She wanted me to tell you her exact words so you would know.”

“Know what?” Manon whispered, her eyes wide.

“That she had faith in you. That she knew you would make the right choice. Knew you would come here. Come home. To unite our peoples.”

She felt as though she’d been struck. Dizzy, short of breath. Felt like she would float away. Except… Aven held onto her hand tightly, tethering her to the ground.

Holding up the package, Aven added, “Rhiannon wasn’t the only one who believed in you Manon.”

“What… what are those?” she asked, looking close enough to finally realize the bundle was a stack of papers tied with twine.

Her grandmother smiled, placing them in Manon’s trembling hands. “These are your parents. Their lives.” With her hands wrapped around Manon’s, Aven said, “Your father knew when your mother died. He felt it through their bond. And he left soon after to search for you, not knowing if you’d survived.

"Liam spent years looking for you. But every few months he’d return. To see Rhiannon and me. To check if there had been any visions about your whereabouts.” She squeezed Manon’s hands. “To write you another letter in case he failed in his search.

"I never read them, but he told me some of what was in them. And I know, without a doubt, that he and your mother would be proud of the witch you’ve become. Rhiannon would be proud to call you sister. Just as I am proud you are my granddaughter.”

Manon blinked at the stack of letters shaking in her hands. Some envelopes were thick, as if they contained more than just paper, and some thin, only holding one or two pages. All she could say was, “My parents…” Over and over, unable to quell her disbelief.

“I wanted you to be somewhere like this when you read them,” Aven said, gesturing to their surroundings. “So your heart would forever connect them with beauty. And peace.”

Manon looked up and gazed around her. The bright blue sky, a few shades lighter than Dorian’s eyes. The fragrant meadow, full of buzzing life and budding flowers. The snow-capped mountains to her left. The foothills and greening tundra stretching into the distance on her right. Her beloved Abraxos, back to rolling around and chasing butterflies. And her grandmother. A witch who loved her. No matter what.

“Thank you Grandmother,” Manon said quietly, putting every ounce of love she felt for her into that last word. For even as she’d come to think of Aven as her grandmother, Manon had never thought she’d be able to say the word again.

Aven’s face lit up as she pulled her down into a hug. “You are welcome my witchling.”

Hours passed while Manon sat in the meadow reading and rereading everything her father had written to her. Aven had insisted on leaving her alone, hiking the short distance back to their camp. The light was just beginning to change as the sun sank closer to the horizon.

“It should be a beautiful sunset.”

Manon turned to find Dorian walking through the high grasses, trailing a hand along Abraxos’s neck as he passed. The wyvern signed contentedly as Dorian sat down next to her.

“Hello Witchling,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Mmm. Hello Princeling.”

“I’ve missed that smile.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she leaned into his warmth, only then noticing the chilly air that accompanied the setting sun.

“I want to show you something,” she said. “Before it’s too dark.”

Dorian snapped his fingers and a small flame sprang from them.

“Such a show off,” she groaned, flipping through the papers and drawings and dried flowers to find the letter she wanted him to read.

“Oh, wait,” she said, pulling free a sketch her father had made. “This is my mother. Lothian.”

Dorian looked at her in astonishment. “Where…?”

“Aven.” It was all she needed to say.

She found herself unable to look away from the drawing. Again. She’d spent much of her time examining the artwork he’d left her. Most of it of her mother. But some of Aven, his father Owain, and Rhiannon.

This one was roughly done, charcoal smudges here and there. But it was Manon’s favorite. Something about the way he’d caught the light reflecting from her mother’s eyes, the shy smile on her face… As if she didn’t want to pose, but he’d charmed her into it.

“She was beautiful,” Dorian said quietly.

“She was,” Manon smiled. “And here.” She grabbed another and held it up. “Here she is with my father.” This one was smaller with fewer details. But it was the only self portrait Liam had included. He’d drawn them sitting at a table. Just talking. It was a simple scene, yet she felt as though it told her everything she could ever want to know about them.

“You can read the others later, but…” She shifted to face him, handing him the letter. “My father left me his story. Their story.” She nodded to the pages he held. “This was the first. About how they met. Why he did this.” She ran her hand over all the materials, picking up a small dried rose and inhaling. There was barely any floral smell left, but she thought she could detect the faintest scent of… them. Her parents. Manon knew it was crazy but… Once the thought entered her head, it stayed there.

She looked over to see Dorian staring at her, the fading sunlight shining off the moisture forming in his eyes. A soft, lovely smile on his face.

“Go ahead,” she said, still holding the flower to her nose. “I want to hear you read it.”

His throat bobbed and he moved to where they could both see it. Then, he began to read.

 

* * *

 

_Manon,_

_I spent a long time thinking about if I should write this letter or not. Countless times I began and countless times did I throw it all away. I suppose it is impossible to say everything that is on my mind, to tell you how much my heart aches that I have to resort to this. To conveying my feelings on a piece of paper instead of holding you in my arms._

_But enough about me, I do not wish to upset you, and even if you never see this letter I feel like writing all of this down - communicating to you - will keep me sane enough to try and find you, wherever it is you might be._

_I suppose I should start at the beginning._

_I met your mother on a stormy day in a backwater village called Mistain to the North of Terrasen. It was odd to meet an Ironteeth in that area, most ventured away from the cold, especially in the middle of a particularly harsh winter such as this one. Which is why when I first saw her, I didn’t recognize her as an Ironteeth. The only thing that went through my mind was how she was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. She was pale and had the most striking dark blue eyes I had the pleasure of meeting._

_We were both in a local bar, and it was full due to the rain outside, so it was surprising when she turned to me. It was instantaneous the way we were drawn to each other, and I love to call it fate, because it led to the best days of my life…and it also led to you._

_We spent that night together, talking about everything and nothing. It was a connection I had never had with anyone, and it was clear to me what it meant. We were mates._

_I was eternally thankful when she stayed at the town, and I put off all my plans to remain with her in the outskirts of Mistain, in a little hovel we both called home. Everything seemed so perfect and Lothian was so kind and selfless. She wished to help others, and people would come to our home seeking her help for different ailments. I realized I loved her very quickly, but I knew our time in that paradise would be short-lived._

_A few months into our stay, Aneira came to find me and Lothian had noticed her before I did. Her countenance had changed, and she had pushed me back. I asked her what was wrong and all she told me was that she had to go hunting. I attempted to stop her and understand what she meant, but trouble eventually landed at our door as Aneira arrived at our cottage. I had gone stiff with fear as your mother’s eyes narrowed while Aneira bowed and told me that Aven was expecting her prince._

_The shock of facing a Crochan so easily made Lothian hesitate and she faced me with distrust in her eyes. I held her gaze as I told the other witch to leave. I let my mate slash at me, to draw my blood and taste it. It hurt to see her bare her iron teeth, more than knowing she was Ironteeth herself._

_I was going to let her kill me, I told her as much, but she fought against her instincts - perhaps because she loved me too, perhaps because she felt our cariad bond. But she only backed away and told me to forget everything, forget her, and move on._

_I spent a miserable three weeks in the outpost to the north after she left. I cannot remember much of that time. But then she returned. She told me she followed our bond and had made sure I was away from other witches before she struck me in the face and told me she was expecting._

_I thank whatever gods made her find me, even when I might never meet you, just knowing you existed was a blessing in itself. Knowing what you meant for this world. Our child of peace. That is what we called you. I decided to tell your mother everything, and she patiently listened to everything I said. I told her about my role as prince, about the bonds, about what you would mean for us and our respective covens._

_I had never seen her crying, but your mother told me she had always been ‘weak’ with her emotions. It was the reason the Matron had sent her so far north, because she was a shame to the Blackbeaks, because her eyes were not dark and speckled with gold. If only she believed me when I said she was the strongest out of all._

_If only she had not feared and gone back to your grandmother._

_I do not blame her. Lothian was hell-bent on keeping you safe. She listened to the prophecies, the visions and legends and threw it all aside. She did not hesitate about taking you back. She wanted her mother’s favor and had always longed for a coven of her own. She was too afraid, too indoctrinated, and I could not stop her._

_I heard nothing for a good number of months. I told myself to be patient, to wait until you were born and convince her to stay with me so we could keep you safe and raise you as our future Queen. It was a mistake._

_I should have acted, it has been my biggest regret._

_She passed suddenly and it was the greatest pain of my life. I had lost my heart and soul and perhaps madness took over because I left the safety of my coven. For once, I became the hunter. After a few months, I found a Blackbeak who had information on your mother. She revealed that Lothian was dead…but that you had lived. That the Matron had finally named an heir. A small witchling with white hair and gold eyes._

_I knew it was you, and I had to find you. All your mother wanted was to keep you safe, and I promised myself that I would do the same, or die trying._

_It’s been a year now, but I know you are still out there. I have strong evidence to believe I know where you are._

_Manon, I will find you, and I hope you never have to see this letter because if you do it means I failed you. If I did please forgive me, please understand that I love you, that your mother loved you. I know you will be a fighter, and I know that you will be the Queen that was promised, despite whatever happened to me. Know that whatever you have done, whatever you call yourself, whatever you had to do to survive and however they try to control you…none of it matters._

_You will always be our child of peace, our beautiful Manon, and I know you have already made us proud._

_With love,_

_Liam_

 

* * *

 

Hearing Dorian give voice to her father’s words… Manon had not anticipated the flood of emotions that followed. Of course, she had cried after her first reading. But this time, sharing this with her chosen mate… It was too much.

Dorian laid them back on the grass and held her, running his warm, strong hands over her hair and down her back. Whispering words of love that she returned through their bond, unable to speak them through her tears.

When she eventually twisted around and looked into the sky, it was almost dark, stars becoming visible above the mountain peaks. They sat up to watch the sun drift below the far horizon.

“I wish you could have known them,” Dorian said. A low band of clouds reflected the bright pink and orange rays, with only the sound of wind rustling through the grass around them. It was indeed a beautiful sunset.

She smiled and hugged him closer. “I wish we both could have known them.”

Abraxos shifted behind them, drawing them away from their quiet reverie.

“That reminds me,” Dorian said, nodding back to Abraxos. “If you think he’s ready, we can leave tomorrow to meet up with the others. Over a thousand total, according to Sorrel. Several of the Crochan elders will be with them. Aven insists on coming along. And Annabee. Alastair too, to watch over the wyverns.”

“What of Catrin?” she asked, her brow creased in concern

Dorian shrugged. “He said she told him that he was needed and should go. He agreed.”

She knew what he wanted to ask her, so she saved him the effort. “If they’ve chosen to fight, we can use their help.”

“You’re okay with the civilians tagging along?”

She snorted. “You didn’t see those old witches at the battle. It would be stupid not to include them.” She was quiet for a while, thinking over an idea she’d had while reading her father’s letters. Turning to face him, she said, “There is something else that’s been bothering me though.”

“Tell me.”

“We need to discuss what happens after. If we win. If the witches are to risk their lives, we must have equal say in what peace looks like in Erilea.” Her conviction wavered slightly as she said, “I’m not sure if the others will agree to that.”

Dorian stared at her solemnly, knowing who she meant. Not just Aelin and Aedion, or Ansel. Neither of them knew on which side the Ytgers of Eyllwe would fall. Let alone whoever might end up ruling the other countries and territories of Erilea. “You don’t think uniting with the humans against Erawan will resolve the prejudice they have against witches.”

Manon sighed. “Neither side is blameless. But how likely is it that any alliance we form will hold up after a victory?”

Dorian admitted he didn’t know, but agreed it was something they needed to address sooner rather then later. Which left them to develop a plan for negotiations with the other players, including Petrah and the Crochans. Strategies to ensure the livelihood of the witch clans long after this war was over.

By the light of Dorian’s magic, they talked and carefully gathered her parent’s mementos. Abraxos was anxious to get into the sky, and stay there for a while, so they took a quick trip over the foothills before returning to camp.

And that night, despite the long day of travel awaiting them, and the endless worries of war, and now peace, Manon slept. But, it was not a dreamless sleep. When she woke just before dawn, still wrapped in Dorian’s arms, Manon had fleeting memories of a laughing, blue-eyed witch accepting a small bouquet of roses from her dark-haired mate.

 

* * *

 

“Are you ready?” Dorian asked, his breath frosting in the early morning air. He reached into his coat again to check on the wyrdkey hidden there. Annabee, now perched behind Fallon, had one secured in her pocket. And riding with Sorrel, Aven carried the third.

They’d decided on this arrangement when they took the keys from the safety of Mala’s Temple at dawn. One person keeping all three keys left them too vulnerable. Not just to enemy attack. Three wyrdkeys in the hands of a single, powerful magic wielder was dangerous, Aven had said. A risk better left until the moment the keys must be used.

Manon turned into the wind and stared out across the tundra, trying to envision the world her parents had dreamed of. The world they wanted her to help create. A united witch kingdom.

Twisting around towards the mountains separating them from Terrasen, she thought of a new dream. A vision of a witch kingdom existing peacefully with the rest of Erilea. Thriving with Erilea.

Neither was going to be easy.

She may have been born a child of peace but she must go to war first. To protect those she loved, whose numbers seemed to grow with each passing day. And to defend those who could not defend themselves. She would do it for her parents and their shared dream. And for the dream she and Dorian now shared.

She smiled down at where he stood, still fidgeting with his clothes. “Me? Do you require a formal invitation Princeling?”

Smirking in reply, Dorian climbed onto Abraxos and settled easily into the saddle behind her. When his hands slid around her waist, she took hold of his forearm and pulled so there was no space between them.

“Hold on to me,” she breathed.

Dorian squeezed and whispered into her ear, “I’m never letting go Witchling.”

Manon turned to him with a smile, their bright eyes locking for a long moment before she kissed him. “Good.”


	25. Epilogue 1 - Chaol

Chaol ducked as a large shadow came out of nowhere and sped across the path leading to Dorian’s tent. A sparkly winged wyvern soared overhead, its rider’s long white braid trailing through the air. With a scowl, he watched it sink lower to land on the opposite edge of camp. She wasn’t supposed to return from the Crochan villages for another week. He’d been hoping she’d be gone longer. Mostly to give him more time to reconnect with Dorian - which had not been going well. But also because he just didn’t want to deal with the inevitable gossip.

Aedion had been eager to tell him about the witch who was now sharing Dorian’s bed. Too eager. Chaol knew the general was anxious to hear about his reaction upon meeting Manon. Though, they’d already ‘met’ he thought, recalling the day in Oakwald when she’d threatened to slice his throat.

Chaol always felt there had been something off about that encounter. About how the Blackbeak witch had played with him when she could have just killed him outright. He knew of their cruelty, so the playing wasn’t unexpected. The hesitation he’d sensed in her though… _That_ had been a surprise. And something he’d not shared with anyone else. Perhaps her reluctance to seriously hurt him had been what motivated him to pull her from the temple bridge as it had collapsed. But… No. It was more likely he’d imagined all of it. He’d simply reacted, reaching for her as she and Aelin jumped towards safety.

He sighed, following the wyvern as it descended behind the tree line. He hoped she’d become preoccupied with her coven before seeking out Dorian. Hoped to be long gone from their tent before she arrived.

Chaol nodded to the soldier standing guard outside then headed straight in to find the tent empty save for the sparse furnishings - a table and four chairs, several trunks of clothes and supplies, including one filled with weapons. And two cots. Pushed up against each other. He shook his head, irrational anger growing at the thought of Dorian’s stupidity. _What the hell is he thinking?_ Yes, the witch apparently had some sick infatuation with him. And she hadn’t killed him. Yet.

The logical part of his mind knew that allying with the witch clans made perfect strategic sense. But that part often fell short when coming up against his desire to protect Dorian at all costs. He couldn’t help but be suspicious of their motives. Not just in the current war. But for the future as well.

“Where is he?” Chaol asked as he made his way back out of the tent, expecting a point in the direction of the wyvern paddock.

“He left at dawn, my Lord. Towards the forest.”

“And no one went with him? No one is guarding him?” Chaol didn’t even try to keep the anger from his voice.

The guard had the decency to look ashamed. But he said, “No sir. He ordered us to stay. He said his magic was protection enough.”

But before he could reprimand the useless fool, or begin a search for Dorian, Chaol saw Manon out of the corner of his eye. She was jogging through the camp. Towards the forest. He would have let her go if not for the worry evident on her face.

Today was a good day for Yrene’s magic, and therefore his ability to walk. But even with his cane, Chaol could not catch up to the witch, who hadn’t slowed her pace. Luckily, he didn’t have to go very far into the woods. And, Manon had gone straight to where Dorian was sitting. But as she neared him, Chaol stopped, suddenly feeling like he shouldn’t have followed her.

At the sound of his name, Dorian stood and embraced Manon. Even in that quick span of time, Chaol could see the tension ease in both of them, Dorian especially. He watched as Manon pulled back and took Dorian’s face in her hands. She was whispering something to him as they stared into each other’s eyes. He didn’t hear every word between them, and didn’t dare move any closer, but his heart sank as he caught snippets - …came as soon … nightmares … dungeons … for how long … too far to sense it … wasn’t you Dorian … but they were my hands …

Their brief conversation ended with another embrace. Desperate, soothing. Full of love.

Chaol had known something was bothering Dorian since he’d arrived, though he hadn’t known what. Whenever he’d asked, Dorian had brushed it off as insomnia, stress from war planning. And to be honest, Chaol had brushed it off as well. He’d just assumed that his King missed his bedmate.

They’d swapped stories about what had happened in the past months. Chaol and Nesryn both explained what they’d learned and experienced in the Southern Continent. Privately, Chaol had included some of the breakthroughs he’d made with regards to his father and Aelin. Dorian had been overjoyed at meeting Yrene, happy for both of them even if he was a bit hurt at missing their wedding.

But now that he thought about it… Dorian had not spoken much about his own life since they’d separated months ago. He’d told Chaol about the attack on Rifthold and his flight to the south, the sea battle with Maeve’s forces, the Crochans, the third key, the death of the Blackbeak Matron, the witch mirror weapons now looming over most of the leaders’ meetings. All vital information. But… related to the war, strategies, alliances. Nothing too personal.

Chaol frowned now as he went over it all again. A former version of himself would have thought Dorian was simply trying to hide his relationship with Manon. Would have chastised Dorian for the risk and idiocy of it.

Now, seeing them together… Seeing how her presence had pulled him out of whatever darkness he’d been drowning in… Pulled him out so quickly, so completely.

Dorian had been avoiding talking to him. No. Avoiding _him_ altogether. And not because of Manon.

Chaol knew little of what had happened to Dorian during his weeks wearing that collar. But he knew enough. Knew now that it was not something Dorian felt comfortable talking to him about. He couldn’t blame him for that though, imagining not for the first time what horrors Dorian had been forced to commit. But it still hurt.

Chaol was overcome with warring emotions. Gratitude for Manon, for what she meant to his best friend. Shame for ignoring Dorian’s problems. Insulted that Dorian would not confide in him. Fear at what he might find out if Dorian did tell him. As he struggled with all his feelings, he found himself still staring at them. They had turned, still hugging, and Manon was watching him.

Manon’s bright eyes were still filled with concern, and even from this distance he saw the tears threatening to spill from them. In that second, Chaol let go of everything. All of the bullshit assumptions and prejudices he’d harbored for this witch. All of his trepidation at letting her near his King. All of his… jealousy. Which is what it all really boiled down to, he realized.

He’d always protected Dorian. Because Dorian had always needed protecting. From others as well as himself. Or so he’d always assumed. When Chaol had first heard about Manon, not just that she was allied with them but that she was with Dorian, he’d kept a straight face. Much to Aedion’s chagrin. But truthfully, he’d been livid.

Days later, after reuniting with Dorian, he’d told Yrene the anger was because the witch was a killer, ally or not. But as he’d laid in bed that night, unable to sleep, he’d begun to question whether it was only the danger she posed that bothered him. Dorian had changed. Matured. Had made the choice to be with Manon. When Chaol wasn’t there. Dorian didn’t need him anymore. Perhaps he’d never really needed him at all.

It was stupid for Chaol to think their relationship would go unchanged after all that had happened to them. But… Knowing that and accepting it fully were two different things. Dorian was his own person. Chaol needed to respect that.

Returning to the here and now, he mouthed the question _OK_?

Manon gave a small nod and silently thanked him. She smiled then. And he couldn’t help but return it. Something seemed to click between them. He felt it like a physical presence. They both loved this man, completely and fiercely. And they’d both do anything to protect him and make him happy.

Chaol bowed his head, then turned and left them alone. As he walked back to the camp, thinking about how he might help Dorian through this, his mind kept going back to that final gesture he’d made to Manon - an instinctive acknowledgment of her place at Dorian’s side - and that snap of connection he’d felt for her.

That night, Chaol sat alone in his tent. Yrene, Hafiza, and the other healers who had traveled inland with them from the Orynth war camps were meeting with some Crochan healers. The two groups were eager to exchange their knowledge of medicines and healing methods. From the excitement he’d seen on her face, he didn’t expect Yrene back for hours.

Which reminded him to tell Nesryn to keep ignoring him from now on. A day after they’d arrived, he’d ordered her not to incorporate any witches into Dorian’s main guard. She’d just looked at him, stone-faced and silent, before walking off to meet with the Thirteen.

He sighed, twisting around to rub away some of the soreness in his lower back when the tent flap was pulled back and a tray of food appeared. Held by Manon.

Chaol stumbled to his feet, feeling even more awkward about what he’d witnessed earlier. Something much more intimate than its outward appearance of hugs and quiet words.

“Nesryn told me you didn’t make it to dinner,” she said, setting the tray down.

“Thank you,” he said. “And… I’m sorry for interrupting. Earlier.”

Manon shrugged, then looked at the empty chair across from where he’d been sitting.

“Please. Sit,” Chaol said, pulling it out for her. Gods, this is going well, he thought glumly.

After she sat and he began to eat, she said, “You don’t need to apologize. You were worried about him.”

Chaol’s face heated in embarrassment. He had been worried. Just not for the right reasons.

She must have caught his expression because she said, “From all that I’ve been told of you, I’d be concerned if you _weren’t_ a little wary of me.”

He choked on a piece of meat, sputtering and coughing until he caught his breath. When he met her eyes, he knew it was pointless to deny it. “I had some reservations,” he admitted.

Manon raised an eyebrow. “Had?”

“Had,” he replied.

“And what has changed your mind?”

Chaol studied her. Her golden eyes shimmered in the lantern light and he suddenly realized something. “Your eyes.”

She huffed a laugh, though the reaction felt forced. “And what about my eyes would make you approve of me, Captain?”

There was no malice in her voice but Chaol flinched at the use of his old title, a flare of shame and regret boiling to the surface. Though he’d worked hard to get past those feelings, they still surprised him on occasion. Before he could get a handle on them though, he retaliated. “I can’t think of anything the Blackbeak Heir would care less about than my approval.”

The words hit their mark. And of course, his shame and regret only doubled as he glimpsed her hand drifting over her abdomen. Where Aedion had told him she’d been gutted by her grandmother as punishment for saving Dorian’s life.

Before he could apologize, Manon said coldly, “I no longer go by that title.”

“And I am no longer a captain,” he replied, quietly adding, “I’d prefer that you call me Chaol.” He reached his hand across the table, a peace offering, and a plea to start over.

Manon stared at his hand and he thought for a moment that she wouldn’t take it. He was about to pull it back when she reached out and shook it.

“I’d prefer that you call me Manon,” she said.

He smiled and nodded, returning to his food.

Manon watched him and after a few bites said, “He thought of you often in the past few months.” She smiled. “I wish I could have seen his reaction when you arrived.”

Chaol couldn’t stop his grin. “I wanted to surprise him. I made Aedion promise to keep my return a secret and not send a messenger ahead of me. He actually managed it.”

Laughing, Manon said, “With his cousin’s affinity for keeping secrets, I’d expect nothing less. I can only imagine what stories you were told about me.”

“Well, Aelin admires you quite a lot,” he said, the name difficult to get out. But Manon knew who he really meant. “Though, Aedion did seem excited by the prospect of our meeting. He must share Aelin’s affinity for drama too,” he said, shaking his head. “I fear he will be disappointed.”

“Indeed.”

His gaze caught on her smile. It brought a softness to her features that made the witch look oddly human. _No_ , Chaol corrected. _It’s not odd. She is more human than many people I know_. Remembering her interaction with Dorian, he was struck by the truth of it.

“You returned a week early,” he said. “That wasn’t coincidence. You knew Dorian was troubled the past few days. And when he saw you, looked into your eyes… You brought him relief from whatever was hurting him.”

She didn’t reply, merely stared at him. But Chaol couldn’t hold her eyes as he felt a wave of inadequacy spread through him. He hadn’t been able to get through to Dorian at all. No. The truth was he hadn’t really tried. Too afraid of what the problem might be. Manon had only to look at him and…

“Don’t do that,” she said. Commanded. Chaol looked up. “Don’t think for one moment that you don’t matter to him. Or that you’re not needed. If he doesn’t talk to you about what happened to him in that collar, it’s not because he doesn’t value you. It’s the exact opposite. You are so important to him that he doesn’t want you to think less of him.”

“How bad?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

She sighed. “He has good days and bad. The nightmares strike randomly, which makes it difficult. And the memories can surface at any time as well. But,” she said thoughtfully, “we’ve both learned some tricks. To help each other.”

Chaol understood then that she had her fair share of demons. They all had demons they struggled with. Clearly, she and Dorian were each other’s salvation. Having found that with Yrene made it obvious to him now.

“Should I… Do you think it would help for me to speak to him?” he asked. He didn’t want to drive Dorian away, but he couldn’t do nothing.

Manon played with her hands while she considered. “Maybe let him come to you when he’s ready,” she finally said. “But I don’t think it would hurt for him to know you will be there when he needs you.” Some emotion that he couldn’t read flashed across her face before she added, “To remind him that you will be his friend, that you will love him, no matter what.”

‘There’s no question,” he said firmly.

“I know,” she said. “But it’s good to hear every now and then.”

He got the feeling that her words had some deeper, more personal significance beyond Dorian. But he wouldn’t pry. Instead, he made something of an offering to her. “Yrene helped me with more than physical healing. Maybe… speaking to a healer, someone impartial but with training… It’s something to consider.”

“Maybe,” she said, understanding that he wasn’t just speaking about Dorian.

They sat in silence until Chaol asked, “So, what’s with your eyes?”

She laughed at his not so subtle change of topic. “I don’t know how or why, but they scared away the valg that day in Oakwald. Dorian says they make him feel safe. They chase away the bad memories. Not completely, but enough to ease his mind.”

He knew without a doubt that it wasn’t just her eyes that made Dorian feel safe. It was her. Again he thought of Yrene and how she could calm him with a single touch. She was his home. And Manon was Dorian’s.

“Lys- uh, Aelin said you and Dorian are mates?”

Manon rolled her eyes. “Were they just feeding you random bits and pieces in the hopes of seeing us fight?”

With a snort, he said, “I wouldn’t put it past them.” He pointed his fork at her. “But you didn’t answer the question.” She glared at the utensil then at him. But he noticed her mouth twitch. “She also said you are a Crochan queen. Can I still call you Manon? Or should it be Your Highness?”

This time, her eye roll was accompanied by an annoyed huff. “Sometimes I question my friendship with her,” she said dryly.

Chaol laughed, ignoring how she again had not answered his questions. He returned to his dinner but felt her eyes still on him.

“You are his best friend. Nothing has changed that,” she said.

He shook his head, giving her a pointed look. “Yes, it has. But that’s ok.” He’d tried not to sound jealous or disappointed, but those feelings had still colored his words.

Manon’s eyes bore into him and he dropped his gaze, examining the table. She was quiet, studying him again. When he finally looked at her, she said, “You are his oldest friend. You two share a long history. Just as I share a long history with Asterin. That can’t be taken from you. But…”

Her hesitation surprised him.

“But perhaps we can all share a future.”

Chaol blinked. Struck not only by Manon’s vulnerability, but by the respect she showed him. Unearned but for his friendship with Dorian.

Manon stood to leave.

He rose with her and said, “I know neither of you need my approval. But I want you to know… how glad I am that he has you Manon.” Her eyes briefly shifted away. “You love each other. You’re mates. So, regardless of whether you accept the title of Crochan queen…”

Manon stilled, seeming to understand what he was about to say. And do. But before she could stop him, Chaol picked up his cane and knelt before her. “You are my Queen Manon Blackbeak. I will serve and protect you as I serve and protect my King.”

 

* * *

 

A surge of emotions rushed through Manon. So many she couldn’t decipher them. She was overwhelmed by the sight of Chaol kneeling before her. Overwhelmed by the significance of his gesture, his words. His respect.

She had been surprised by his presence in the camp today, but only had time to think on it after Dorian had felt better and gone to sleep. Her nerves had almost gotten the better of her as she’d approached Chaol’s tent earlier with his dinner. She was acutely aware of how much she wanted him to like her. And pissed at herself for feeling that anxiety and need for approval.

As she’d stood motionless outside of his tent, she’d remembered all the things she’d overheard from people in the Orynth camps. Westfall was overly protective and hated anyone and anything that posed a threat to Dorian. An excellent fighter, a strong and savvy captain. But resistant to change, loyal to a fault, and intolerant of magic.

On and on. She could have spent an hour going over all that she’d heard about him. Some of which wasn’t necessarily negative. Just negative in light of an Ironteeth witch’s presence in Dorian’s life.

But she weighed those against the stories Dorian had told her about them growing up together. All the mischief and trouble they’d caused. How Chaol had been his only true friend in a world of sycophants and neglect. How Chaol had overcome his initial fear of Dorian’s magic. How he’d sacrificed his own safety so Dorian might be freed.

Manon didn’t care what others thought. Chaol loved Dorian. As much as she did. If they had nothing else in common… that alone should make them allies, if not friends. So she’d opened the flap and walked into Chaol’s tent.

But this… She hadn’t expected things to take this turn. Dorian’s best friend and second on his knee before her. Pledging himself to her as if she and Dorian were married. King and Queen of… she didn’t even know. Whatever kingdom would survive this war.

Unable to hide the emotion in her voice, she said, “You don’t need to…” trailing off as he looked up to her. His expression seemed to say that he did need to do this. _Loyal to a fault_ , she thought with a small smile.

Manon nodded her gratitude and Chaol pushed himself upright with his cane.

Holding up the darkly polished wood, he indicated the metal grip and said, “There’s a little extra weight in the handle. It makes for a nice weapon in a pinch.”

“Impressive,” she smirked. “Remind me not to piss you off.”

Chaol laughed and shook his head. “I’m pretty sure you could kick my ass with both arms tied behind your back. The emptiness of my pledge to protect you is not lost on me.”

He was joking but her expression sobered. “It wasn’t empty,” she said. “A witch’s coven is family. We love each other, but we are duty-bound as well. So I do not take your pledge lightly. The only other person to freely offer me their trust and respect and friendship… well.” She glanced behind her. “I should go check on him.”

For another quiet moment they just stared at each other. Manon had felt the chymariad bond form between them in the forest. The witch bond for friends and allies. Now, she wondered if he’d felt anything. Wondered if the bond had actually sparked to life that day in Oakwald, when she’d spared his life and he’d saved hers.

But it was getting late. And she thought it might be better not to overwhelm him. “Good night Chaol,” she said, turning to go.

“You knew he needed you through the mate bond,” he said. She faced him and nodded. “It’s different than a fae bond.” Again, she nodded. “Are there other types of bonds? For witches?”

Manon smiled. “There is one for friendship.”

Chaol was deep in thought for a moment before returning her smile. “You’ll have to explain it to me sometime. Good night Manon.“

Dorian was still asleep when she returned to their tent, though she could tell by his position that his sleep had been restless. Trying to be quiet, she undressed and pulled another blanket from a trunk. But as she lay down next to him, the cot squeaked and he jumped awake.

“What… where?”

“Shhh, Princeling. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Dorian rolled over to face her and she made sure he could see her eyes, even though it was dark. Freeing himself from the blankets twisted around his legs, he settled back down next to her.

 _Too much space_.

He smiled and pulled her across to his cot so they had no choice but to meld their bodies together.

“Better Witchling? You are so demanding,” he teased.

“Much better,” she said, gently kissing his cheek. He was back to sleep within minutes, a faint smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know everyone can’t wait for the Dorian-Chaol reunion, but I wanted to focus on Chaol and Manon. I wrote most of this before Tower of Dawn. Aside from switching Nesryn for Yrene, I actually didn’t change a lot. I always thought that Chaol would accept Manon pretty quickly because they both care about Dorian. And who better to keep his king safe than a Blackbeak witch? But after a few instances of Chaol speaking rather kindly of Manon in Tower of Dawn, I’m more confident they will get along. They may not be immediate friends lol, but I don’t think there will be the fighting people expect.


	26. Epilogue 2 - Nesryn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I screwed up. I wrote the Chaol epilogue (chapter 25) and then got the idea to write a separate little head canon about Manon-Dorian meeting Nesryn-Sartaq. Little did I know that head canon would morph into an entirely new chapter. (Alright. I kind of knew. This thing is never going to end, let’s be honest.) The screw up is the chronological corner I wrote myself into with that Chaol chapter. So, this is chapter 26, but within the story it takes place before the events of chapter 25. I don't think it really matters in which order they're read though.  
> Also, this is a long one.  
> And I just realized that it's been over a year since I started writing this fic. THANK YOU to everyone who has stuck with me from the beginning! THANK YOU to new readers who have just started!

Dorian strode out of Aedion’s empty tent, frustrated at missing the General yet again. A lieutenant from the Bane said he’d left at dawn for Suria to deal with some of Rolfe’s ships which had recently arrived. Apparently, he wanted to make sure the pirates caused no trouble in the small port city. Dorian couldn’t help but wonder if Aedion had simply needed time away from Lysandra. He felt badly for both of them being stuck in such a difficult situation. But her disguise was the glue to their piecemeal alliance until Rowan returned with Aelin.

He had hoped that when they joined up with Aedion and Lysandra that it would be the real Lysandra again. He’d hoped that Aelin would be here waiting for him and Manon. Instead, they’d brought their witch army to Orynth only to find Aedion and Lysandra at each other’s throats. Her shapeshifting and acting abilities, not to mention her cunning, made Lysandra the perfect imposter. But the growing weight of responsibility and worry for Aelin was wearing on her. And such a haphazard mix of forces – Terrasen foot soldiers and cavalry, the Whitethorn ships, the Ashryvers, the assassins, and the various armies and navies Ansel had thrown together – would be a nightmare for anyone to oversee, let alone a gifted general like Aedion.

At least that had been Dorian’s excuse to Manon when trying to calm her temper in the few weeks they’d been here. But no matter the reasons, Aedion’s reaction to the forces they’d brought with them had been disappointing. Upon first seeing the fields of wyverns and the squadrons of witches, both Ironteeth and Crochan, Lysandra had been ecstatic. Aedion, on the other hand, had looked over the group with stubborn impassivity. Later, Lysandra had confided that she thought Aedion still harbored some ill will towards he and Manon for their roles in Aelin’s capture. For Dorian sending her into the mirror, and for Manon not doing enough to stop Maeve from taking her. 

“He blames me too. He actually thinks any of us could have stopped her once she set her mind to something,” Lysandra had said. “She’d resigned herself to the possibility of capture a long time before any of us even knew what was going on."

Although Dorian and Manon had agreed, they still felt some small measure of guilt, and knew Aedion was taking his own out on those around him. Understandable, if not necessarily fair. 

That didn’t quite explain his stupidity however. When he’d demanded the witches swear their allegiance to Terrasen in writing… Dorian had to physically restrain Manon. Thankfully, Aven and Petrah had stayed calm enough to simply tell him no before walking out of the meeting.

Which was why the entire aerial force of witches was relocating to the southwest near Perranth. They’d be closer to the Crochans. And farther from an inevitable explosion between Aedion and Manon. But they’d still be near enough to respond if and when they were needed. So, they were leaving tomorrow morning. Many of the witches were pissed off at having to double back over terrain they’d already crossed to get here. Some were upset to leave the large encampment of men and women, a novel source of fun. But he was glad for it. As were the leaders of the witch coalition. It had been getting difficult keeping the witches under control with so many humans nearby. And vice versa. Old prejudices remained, just as he and Manon had feared. 

Dorian stopped suddenly in the middle of the road that wound its way through the sprawling war camp. Having just barely missed him, the driver of a horse-drawn cart shouted curses at him and Dorian stepped aside, ignoring the soldier. He stared down an intersecting path at two people who looked like they were lost. The woman looked familiar and it took him an embarrassingly long time to realize who it was. 

“Nesryn?” She looked in his direction, and after a moment or two passed for her to recognize him, he didn’t feel so bad about not immediately knowing who she was. Neither one was expecting to see the other in this setting. “Rutting gods! It is you!” He ran at her and before she could speak he swooped her into a hug.

When he let her go, she looked awkwardly back and forth between him and her companion. Who was definitely not Chaol. Dorian turned in an anxious circle, searching for his friend.

“He's just landed in Suria,” Nesryn said, her face falling. Dorian’s look of worry startled her into a nervous laugh and she raised her hands defensively. “No! He’s fine, it’s just...” She sighed. “He wanted to surprise you with his return and if he finds out it’s been ruined, he will never forgive me.” She gave the man an odd look, then turned back to him. “He’s got a lot to tell you so... all I will say is that he is healthy and excited to see you.”

Dorian looked between the two of them, noticing their clothing - leathers that were similar to those worn by the Ironteeth witches - their braided hair, and their vibrant, windswept quality, complete with chapped lips and cheeks. He had an odd, sinking feeling that much had happened to his friends in the Southern Continent, and more was to come. More, like he was losing his captain to her father’s homeland, and possibly, to this handsome man waiting patiently next to her. 

“And if I order you as your King, you still won’t tell me?” he asked finally, only half joking.

The man’s eyes grew wide and his entire demeanor changed as he glanced to Nesryn. Dorian conceded, “The hug was probably not the most regal of greetings.”

Nesryn’s cheeks were bright red as she said, “King Dorian Havilliard, this is Prince Sartaq, Heir to the Khagan of the Southern Continent.”

The Prince bowed low. “It is an honor Your Majesty.”

Now it was his turn to stare in astonishment. Not just a prince, but the Heir to the Khaganate had accompanied Nesryn back to Erilea. Dorian quickly regained his poise and said in Halha, “The honor is all mine Prince Sartaq. Please forgive me.” He bowed and then offered his hand.

“What am I forgiving?” the Prince asked, a smile lighting his face as he shook Dorian’s hand.

Dorian laughed. “My inappropriate behavior in response to this wonderful surprise. And my atrocious accent.”

“There is no need for either,” the Prince said. “And your accent is excellent, Your Majesty.”

Nesryn rolled her eyes, so quick that he probably wouldn’t have caught it if he wasn’t so used to seeing it from Manon. “Please, call me Dorian. And the only thing we have no need for is flattery. My Halha is awful. Nesryn can attest to that.”

The Prince’s face lit up even more as he said, “Dorian it is. I prefer going without titles as well. And I’d be happy to help you improve your accent.” He gave Dorian a cocky grin. “Assuming we have any spare time while saving the world.”

Nesryn didn’t bother hiding her reaction this time. “Perhaps there is _no need_ for me to stay. I can go look for Aedion on my own.”

Her eye roll was impressive, Dorian thought, as Sartaq took her hand and leaned down to whisper something in apology. Nesryn glanced hesitantly at him, but Dorian smiled. Undoubtedly, he was in for a hell of a story whenever Chaol got back. And though he was dying of curiosity, he wouldn’t interrogate Nesryn here. 

“Actually, Aedion isn’t here.” Dorian said. “But there is someone I’d like you both to meet.” He gestured for them to follow. As he started down a narrower road that led out of camp, he twisted around and said, “Thank the gods she wasn’t here for all of the _Your Majesties_. I’d never hear the end of it.” He caught the curious look Sartaq gave Nesryn, but she didn’t. She was too busy giving Dorian a smug smile.

He had liked Nesryn from the moment they’d met, but it was obvious that she’d changed a great deal from her journey to Antica. She’d always been straightforward, but also reserved. Quiet. Now, she seemed as if she’d found some piece that had been missing before. Dorian didn’t think that was only due to the Prince who couldn’t keep his eyes off her. It was more like something she’d discovered within herself. A new sort of confidence that went deeper than just being highly skilled at her job. She was still smirking at him and he found he quite liked this new Nesryn. “What is that look for?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she replied. “Just excited to see the wyverns.”

Sartaq stopped and looked between the two of them. “You have wyverns here?”

Dorian nodded, shooting a mocking glare at Nesryn for figuring out his surprise. “How did you know?”

“How did I know _princeling_?” she asked, drawing out the last word as if harassing a sibling. 

He felt his cheeks heat but the small embarrassment disappeared when she added. “We have a surprise of our own.”

 

* * *

 

Nesryn knew she should probably stop teasing the King of Adarlan. It was just so easy. And fun. The sight of his jaw dropping when she mentioned the ruks was worth it. But, he was still her ruler. And employer.

That thought made her stomach churn, and she stayed mostly quiet the rest of the way to the wyvern paddock, letting Sartaq describe what the Rukhin could offer in the war, and Dorian update them on the state of Adarlan and the forces under Aedion’s command. Trying to catch them off guard, Dorian threw in a question here and there fishing for more details about Chaol. But neither gave anything away. Sartaq always glanced to her for permission and when she’d shake her head in annoyance, he’d turn back to Dorian with a ridiculously sorrowful expression. To which Dorian would say something like _No, no, I don’t want to get anyone in trouble_. They were like little boys commiserating over some great injustice she had committed against them. She would have been pissed. If not for them clearly liking each other. And the fact that her heart had swelled with that knowledge. 

They turned a corner and Nesryn almost ran into Sartaq, who stood frozen, staring in awe across a field filled with what had to be hundreds of wyverns. She walked around him and gaped too. She’d seen them before of course. But... “Gods! So many...” she breathed.

She’d forgotten how big they could get, some easily three or four times the size of Salkhi. And the colors. Various shades of grays and browns and greens, but also blues and even reds. One looked almost purple. Every few moments one would let out a shriek or rumble a low roar, but it was surprisingly quiet for so many beasts confined to one area. There were witches milling about, checking on injuries or throwing sides of meat at their mounts.

Sartaq broke her focus as he anxiously asked, “Do they all fly for you? Or does Erawan still have some in his army?”

She knew what he was thinking. Seeing them in person, seeing the size difference compared to their ruks… She looked towards Dorian, who also seemed to understand Sartaq’s concern.

“He still has some witches with him, but not as many as we have. Though he has other flying monstrosities within his forces.” He pointed to the trees edging the field and she saw a group tending their brooms. “The wyverns are intimidating. But the Crochan clan held back a large enemy force with brooms and magic until Ironteeth allies arrived.” Turning back to them, he added, “And they don’t fly for me. They fly for her.”

She and Sartaq turned to face a beautiful, white haired witch who was walking towards them, smiling at Dorian. Nesryn recognized her immediately, though she would have known her from rumors and reputation if she hadn’t seen her that day in the Oakwald Forest. Sartaq shifted closer towards her side, eyeing the witch warily. She did have a brutal looking sword strapped to her hip, Nesryn thought with admiration. But the way the witch looked at Dorian should have told Sartaq they had nothing to fear. 

“Manon Blackbeak,” Dorian said, “this is Nesryn Faliq, Captain of my Royal Guard, and Prince Sartaq, future Khagan of the Southern Continent.”

Nesryn wasn’t sure how to greet Manon. She knew the wing leader was heir to the Blackbeak Matron. Or, had been. If Manon was on their side she must have broken from her clan leader. But either way, Nesryn didn’t think that qualified her as royalty. A hand shake seemed like not enough though. Thankfully, Manon saved her the trouble of deciding.

“Captain. Prince.” She nodded respectfully to both of them, which they graciously returned.

With a casual shrug, Dorian said, “Nesryn knew you’d end up helping us.”

She glared at Dorian in disbelief. It was one thing to tease him, but she certainly didn’t want to get on the bad side of a Blackbeak witch. Manon’s golden eyes landed on her and she forced herself to meet them. They practically glowed in the sunlight. Having only ever seen Manon from afar, she’d had no idea how truly captivating she was.

Manon looked her up and down then turned back to Dorian and said, “Of course she did. She must be exceptionally smart to manage a guard full of men.” The witch wrinkled her nose on the last word.

She and Sartaq choked on their laughs but Dorian didn’t bother covering up his. When Manon shifted her attention back to Nesryn, she smiled and said, “You favor the bow if I recall? Perhaps you’d like to show some of my witches a trick or two?”

Nesryn exchanged a glance with Sartaq, who winked at her. “She does have quite the reputation,” he said. “But, first…” He looked longingly at the bustling field. “May I trouble you for a ride?”

“Oh,” Dorian said, taking hold of Manon’s hand and leading them towards a small, dark wyvern sprawled in the grasses nearby. “I forgot to mention Witchling. They’ve brought reinforcements.”

Manon whirled around and studied them, seeing their clothes for what they were – flying leathers. Then she stared at Sartaq, her eyes wide as saucers, and whispered, “The Winged Prince.”

Before she could stop herself, Nesryn shook her head and said, “Please be sure to call him that in front of his hearth sister.”

Sartaq elbowed her gently. “And she prefers you call her Neith’s Arrow.”

Manon wasn’t even paying attention, too enthralled by the prospect of having the ruks join their forces. But she caught Dorian watching her with a brotherly smile. He pulled Manon along and she thought she heard him say something about wyverns first, ruks second, otherwise, Abraxos would be jealous. Assuming that was the name of the little wyvern they were now approaching, Nesryn almost pointed out that Kadara and Salkhi would be equally upset if she and Sartaq returned smelling of another beast. But the thought left her mind as the wyvern turned and looked at them.

Its head tilted to examine them, then it huffed out a breath and ruffled its wings. Just enough for her to see the silvery sheen on their surface. If she didn’t know better, she’d think it was trying to show off for them. Its intelligence clearly rivaled that of the ruks, and she wondered if all wyverns were like that. Or if it was just this one. “Abraxos? Is that right?” she asked Manon. Who had walked off to… pick flowers? The wyvern bobbed its head as if answering her and she startled backwards into Sartaq.

“He’s too smart for his own good,” Manon said, returning and surreptitiously handing her a bunch of wildflowers. She nodded for Nesryn to give them to Abraxos then whispered, “He already likes you but this will make him love you.”

Nesryn hesitated, then split the bunch giving half to Sartaq. She held them out, expecting the wyvern to eat them. But instead, the beast closed his eyes and pushed his snout into the petals, inhaling deeply and loudly. He reached a bit further and nuzzled her hand. Sartaq stepped up next to her and repeated the gesture. Abraxos took his time smelling them as well, even though they were the same flowers.

On her other side, Manon said quietly, “He was a bait wyvern, used to train the bigger ones. He’d never seen sunlight or grass until I took him out of his cave.”

That certainly explained the scarring. And the decidedly unbeastlike behavior. Nesryn smiled and stroked his snout. Sartaq stood by, silently taking it all in. She could see the note of worry in his eyes. It wasn’t just about fighting _against_ Erawan’s aerial legions. But he was also worried about fighting _with_ these wyverns. Despite her surety that Manon and her coven would ally with Dorian, she had not expected this. A thousand wyverns. And now, a thousand ruks.

“This is going to be interesting,” she sighed, wondering how Salkhi would do surrounded by giant flying lizards.

“First thing’s first, wind seeker,” Sartaq said as he kissed her cheek and walked around Abraxos, his mood lightened by Dorian’s indication that the saddle was ready. She watched as Dorian helped him with the straps to keep him in place. Manon climbed up and sat behind him, pulling the reins around his waist. Before he jumped down, Dorian gave Manon’s braid a little tug, and she gave him a playful scowl. As soon as he was on the ground, Abraxos stood and beat his shimmering wings, visibly excited to be taking to the air. Maybe the wyverns and ruks weren’t so dissimilar after all, she thought. Dorian joined her and they watched Abraxos as he leapt upwards, soared across the tree tops, and disappeared.

After a moment of silence, he walked a short distance away, leaned against a fence and crossed his arms. She remembered him from before he’d become King. Before he’d been collared and forced to do the bidding of a valg demon. Prince Dorian had always been fastidious about his appearance. Always new clothes, trimmed hair, shining boots. Now though… He certainly didn’t look bad. He was as attractive as ever, she thought. But his plain clothing was much more suited to this war camp than a throne room. And his hair was long enough to curl around his ears. He apparently knew his way around a wyvern, and had settled in with the witch clans. He noticed her staring so Nesryn walked over and joined him. She figured now was as good a time as any to get things out of the way.

Leaning on the fence next to him, she opened her mouth to speak but he asked, “How long do I have to find your replacement?” He looked down at her with a bittersweet smile.

Nesryn was quiet, trying to think of the right thing to say. Eventually, she gave up and just went with the truth. “I feel awful,” she said, continuing to watch the activity in the field. “You naming me Captain… It was so important. Not only a woman leading the Royal Guard, but a woman of mixed heritage. I feel as though I’ve betrayed the trust you put in me.” Nesryn faced her King to find him still smiling at her. She’d never truly expected Dorian to be angry with her. Disappointment. That had been her fear. And yet, there was no trace of it in his expression.

“You’ve done nothing to betray my trust Nesryn. Besides. It appears that you have more important things awaiting you than leading a guard,” he said, nodding in the direction Sartaq and Manon had flown. “As a King, I’m sad to lose you. But as a friend, I couldn’t be happier.”

Nesryn didn’t care about protocol as she reached over and hugged Dorian.

“I should have pretended to be more upset in order to blackmail you for details about Chaol,” he said, making her laugh.

They broke apart and Nesryn said, “I’m sworn to secrecy. But I can tell you a bit about my adventure.”

“Please!” He moved to sit down in the grass. “I expect it will include some romance?”

She felt her cheeks flush with heat and said, “And what about your adventure? I’d like to hear it as well. You’ve clearly been up to… a lot.”

Dorian laughed. “Yes, well. That could take all day. Suffice it to say, I managed to convince a witch to fall in love me-“

She interrupted him with a snorting laugh. “I bet that took a lot of work on your part.”

He looked thoughtful. “Actually, it did..." With a wink, he added, "But it was worth it.”

“Can I ask you something?” He nodded. “Do you intend to make her your queen?”

“There is no ‘making’ Manon do anything,” he said dryly. After a moment, he continued. “Actually, we are mates. Through a witch bond. So… I don’t know in what capacity we'll be together. Only that we will be together.”

“I had no idea witches even had mating bonds.”

A shadow of some memory passed over his face. “We didn’t either until we reached the Crochans. It turns out much of the old histories are wrong.” He looked at her, seeming to decide whether he should go on. “Manon’s father was a Crochan Prince, and she is the heir to Queen Rhiannon.” At Nesryn’s gasp, Dorian said, “She hasn’t accepted the title and they’ve not yet offered. It’s… complicated.”

She knew about the Ironteeth’s centuries old campaign against the Crochans, and knew that yes, it must be extremely complicated. She was amazed they’d managed to make an alliance with them in the first place. “Is she still heir to the Blackbeak coven?” Dorian’s face hardened and she wondered if she’d pried too much.

“Technically she is Matron to the Blackbeaks who broke off to join us. But there is a faction who allied with the Yellowlegs and fight for Erawan. This group,” he waved a hand towards the field, “consists of those loyal Blackbeaks, Bluebloods, and Crochans. But the Bluebloods have their own matron and the Crochans have a governing council with only a few members here.”

“What will she do after all of this? Do you think they will accept her rule?”

He glanced at her curiously. “Why are you so interested in all of this?”

Nesryn blushed, then inwardly cursed her traitorous skin. She sighed, planning to explain, but only able to get out one word. “Sartaq…” Dorian’s eyebrows raised as he realized why she was asking so many questions about ruling and governing. 

“Are you two betrothed?”

“No! I mean… No. No.” She fiddled nervously with her hands. She hadn’t meant to bark out that response. “We’ve talked about it. And I am…” She laughed. “I’m very willing. It’s just…” She couldn’t bring herself to actually say it.

But Dorian could. “Empress Nesryn Faliq.”

“Exactly,” she said.

He laid back and propped himself up on his elbows. They sat like that for a while, watching the occasional commotion as a wyvern refused its dinner or snapped at a neighbor who’d gotten too close. Manon and Sartaq had been gone longer than she’d expected. Manon’s desire to see the ruks made Nesryn think they’d go up and be back down within a few minutes. But Sartaq must have convinced her to stay airborne for a while.

“Once Sartaq was named heir he told his siblings that he would refuse to follow tradition. He would not kill them or force them to be sterilized just for his throne to go unthreatened.”

“That’s… good?” Dorian said, and she gave him a dirty look. “No, I mean it,” he added, sitting up. “If he has the authority and desire to end that practice, then he can create a court of his choosing. He can run it the way he wants. Or,” he nudged her arm. “The way both of you want.” Nesryn wasn’t convinced. 

“Listen, it’s likely that if we win this war, Adarlan will need to be rebuilt from scratch. Not just the physical structures, but the government as well. And I don’t intend to do things the same way they’ve always been done.” Dorian’s eyes were a bright, fiery blue. She couldn’t help but feel pulled into his hopefulness. “Manon and I have talked about it and we both want things to be different. Better. For everyone. Human, witch, fae, noble or poor, those with magic, those without. Aelin does too. It sounds like Sartaq does, though from what I know of the khaganate they’re already centuries ahead of Erilea in most things.” He drifted away in thought, but before she had to regain his attention, he said, “Ruling, the responsibility of it, the pressure, it’s scary as hell.”

“Is that meant to help?” she asked with a laugh, watching a unit of witches zoom overhead on brooms. 

“It’s scary but we aren’t left without choice. We can decide how to best help our people. You can decide how involved you want to be.”

“He can’t,” she said, turning back to face him. “You can’t.”

“No, but he and I were both raised for this. It’s all we’ve known. There’s a difference between living this your entire life, and entering into it as an adult. I’ve accepted it. It sounds like he has as well. The question is, will you? And if so, what will you do with it?”

Nesryn nodded, thinking over all he’d said. She had more questions and worries, but Abraxos suddenly appeared from behind the trees, landing gracefully in front of them. He looked like he was grinning. “Are those…” She squinted. “He has iron teeth?”

“He’s a member of the Thirteen,” Dorian laughed, then froze in thought. “Wait. I think I have some ideas for your replacement. If you decide to go on to bigger and better things that is.”

She agreed that any of Manon’s witches would make an excellent Captain of the Guard, but Nesryn wasn’t sure if she shared his confidence in her. She stood and walked towards Abraxos as Sartaq climbed down and almost ran over to meet her. 

“That was incredible! It’s so different from a ruk but yet the same!” He picked her up into a hug and she couldn’t help but laugh. When he sat her down and went back to talk to Manon, Dorian came up beside her.

“You should talk to Manon. Her position is... unique, but it might be good for you both to have someone to talk to about it. And, for what it’s worth Nesryn, I think you’d make a wonderful Empress.” He squeezed her shoulder and went over to join Sartaq and Manon.

Nesryn bit her lip, trying not to let her emotions overwhelm her. She watched in amazement as her King, now, her friend, his witch mate, and the man she loved, who just happened to be the future Khagan of her father’s homeland, all fussed over a little wyvern who loved flowers. And on top of all that, she had her very own ruk waiting for her.

With a laugh that sounded more like a sob, she realized neither she nor Dorian had even gotten around to telling their stories.

Sartaq looked up and beckoned her over. When she reached him he pulled her into his arms and whispered, “You look happy my love.”

“I am,” she said. “But can you let go so I can take my first wyvern ride?” He laughed but did as she asked. 

Manon strapped her in then settled into the saddle behind her, leaving the reins in her lap. Nesryn turned to give them to Manon but she pushed her hand away. “You hold onto them. Sartaq said you’re as good a flyer as you are an archer.” Nesryn smiled and waved to Sartaq and Dorian as Abraxos reared up and pushed off the ground. 

A half hour later, they landed in the clearing near where she and Sartaq had left their ruks. They were tucked within a dense grove of trees, out of sight and away from the camp. When they dismounted, Manon took the reins and bent to look into Abraxos’s eyes. She was silent, but Nesryn had the eerie feeling the witch was speaking to her wyvern. 

“It might be easier to bring them to him,” Manon said. “So their space isn’t invaded.”

Nesryn jogged into the woods and returned, slowly leading Kadara and Salkhi by their reins. She wished she’d thought to have Sartaq come along, but they’d decided to do this at the last minute. Kadara listened to her though so hopefully, it wouldn’t be a problem. As they hopped into the field and got their first look at Abraxos, the ruks wheeled back and snapped their fierce beaks. She ducked down low, keeping hold of them, and glancing back towards Manon. 

Nesryn almost burst out laughing. Abraxos was on his back, rolling in the grass while his rider watched in frustration, hands on her hips. Kadara was now watching the scene, head tilting back and forth. Her beak was still twitching in agitation, but she was clearly intrigued with what was happening. Nesryn made a split second decision and dropped the ruk’s reins. Salkhi, more timid and waiting to see how Kadara fared, stayed back, his head dipped low but eyes watchful. 

The larger ruk began to hop out into the clearing. Slowly, but unafraid. Abraxos continued to frolic, ignoring the approaching bird completely. He stilled when Kadara reached him, letting her smell him. And just like that, Kadara settled into the grass next to him and began to preen. Abraxos huffed loudly and the ruk jumped away, but within a minute, she was back next to him. 

Nesryn and Manon shared a humorous look, and she stepped out, pulling Salkhi with her. It took longer, but eventually, her ruk was able to tolerate Abraxos. He was more wary than Kadara, but Nesryn was pleased with the introduction.

“Sartaq told me about how you saved Lysandra with a single arrow,” Manon said out of nowhere. Nesryn fought the blush creeping up her face and nodded. “He told me something else. A story Chaol had told him.” She turned to find Manon’s eyes on her and almost flinched from the intensity of her stare. But she didn’t move as Manon’s hand rested on her shoulder. “You saved Dorian with a single arrow. From Aelin. Before... Before he was freed from the valg.”

Nesryn didn’t know what to say. “We... Chaol didn’t believe he was truly gone. I was there in case Aelin... Well. At that time, he didn’t trust her not to kill him. Even if she claimed it was a mercy.”

Manon bowed her head and touched her fingertips to her forehead. “Thank you, Nesryn Faliq. I owe you a life debt.”

She felt like the moment deserved some special acknowledgment, but no words came to her. When Manon met her gaze, the witch smiled. It was so soft and kind, Nesryn blurted out something she’d been thinking for most of the day. “I’m glad he has you, Manon.”

“I’m glad I have him,” Manon said, then turned back to their mounts. “Oh gods...”

Nesryn whirled, expecting a fight, only to see Kadara nudging Abraxos with her beak and fluffing up her feathers. “Sartaq does call her a mother hen,” she said with a laugh. 

Manon rolled her eyes. “If there is one thing Abraxos does not need more of, it’s admirers fussing over him. At least yours has a good head on his shoulders and knows not to feed his ego.”

Salkhi was standing back, but Nesryn could tell by the way he eyed Abraxos that he was a bit enamored of the wyvern. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I think he’s got Salkhi under his thrall too.”

Manon released a long-suffering sigh. But she was still smiling, her entire being radiating love for her wyvern. Surprising herself, Nesryn suddenly thought that she would happily call Manon her queen. And, she decided to follow Dorian’s suggestion and ask Manon for advice.

They ate together that night, exchanging stories of their recent adventures as well as old tales. She and Sartaq were careful not to mention Chaol and Yrene. Though, later in private, Nesryn had given in and answered a couple of Dorian’s questions, reassuring him that Chaol was healthy and that they were still good friends despite Sartaq’s presence in her life.

They were disappointed to hear that the group was leaving the next day to move to Perranth, but it worked out well in one sense. The timing of their departure made it a little easier for Nesryn and Sartaq to claim they had not seen Dorian. Who had sworn not to reveal that he knew about Chaol’s imminent return. Manon would be leaving almost immediately from Perranth to attend to some matters with the Crochans and expected to be gone for a couple of weeks. Nesryn caught her and Dorian exchanging looks that suggested they hadn’t been apart for that long before. She tried to reassure Dorian that Chaol and the Southern Continent forces would provide enough distraction that the time would pass quickly, but he’d only given her a halfhearted smile. 

Later still, when she and Sartaq had retired to their tent, Nesryn told him about her conversation with Dorian. She hadn’t admitted all of her fears to Sartaq, worried that he might take it the wrong way. But he understood her misgivings, just as Dorian had. They both had grown up in that world and knew what sacrifices were required. He also knew, he said, that Nesryn could choose how much she wanted to be involved. Which responsibilities she wanted to take on. He even offered to let her run the whole empire.

“That would give me time to go flying with Kadara,” he said cheekily, earning him a smack on the arm. Then, sliding her over to him, he said, “You know I would never go flying without you, wind seeker.”

Nesryn loved hearing him use her mother’s nickname for her. Almost as much as she loved kissing him. Which she did, thoroughly, all night long.

 

* * *

 

Dorian woke with a choked gasp to find Manon shaking him by the shoulders and calling his name. He took one look at the terror in her eyes, something he’d never seen there before, then promptly rolled over and threw up. She jumped up and was back with a cup of water before he knew it.

“I should have expected it,” he coughed. “I haven’t had a bad one for a while.” When he reached for the water, he realized his hands were shaking.  

Manon sat the cup down and took his hands in hers, dipping her head so he could easily look into her eyes. The sight of them, vibrant and glowing even in the low light of their tent, was enough for his breathing to even out. But the tremors remained, even as she pulled his hands to her lips.

He knew she wanted to ask about the nightmare and was relieved when she didn’t. The thought of what he’d seen, what he’d done, threatened to make him sick again. He didn’t think he would be able to put any of that into words. 

“I’m going to postpone my meetings with the Crochans,” she said. 

Dorian shook his head. “You can’t. It’s too important and I won’t let you jeopardize building a relationship with the council because of a nightmare.”

Manon’s face grew tight with concern. “Dorian.” Her eyes stayed on his. “I saw some of it through the bond. I don’t think you should be alone.”

His stomach roiled but there wasn’t anything left to come up. “I’m sorry,” he said, and stood. But with nowhere to go, he began walking in circles.

What must she think? Seeing images of him torturing his best friend? 

Suddenly, Manon was standing before him. She hugged him and said, “You forget that I’ve been in this position myself. And I will repeat your words back to you. You did not do those things.”

He hadn’t moved when she put her arms around him. And he fought the urge to shove her away, fought the feeling that she was contaminating herself by touching him. Getting the blood and filth and horror that covered him onto her. 

“You didn’t hurt Chaol,” she said, pulling him tighter.

“I would have,” he choked out, finally letting go and easing himself into her embrace. The tears ran hotly down his cheeks and he struggled to hold back a sob. 

Manon ran her hands around his back in soothing motions. “ _You_ would not have. _You_ could not have. The valg was in control. Not you. _It was never you_.” He pulled away to look at her. She reached up and brushed the wetness from his face. “Asleep, you may not be able to tell the difference, but your waking mind can. And I will keep reminding you. Anything you need, remember?”

Dorian stared at her, shaking his head in disbelief. Amazed that this witch accepted and loved him. “Where did you come from?” he whispered.

She shrugged, her lips twitching into a smile. “Blame Abraxos. I told him to take me somewhere safe. The next thing I knew, I woke up on a boat with you.”

“I thank the gods every day,” he said, dipping his head to rub his nose against hers. _And I’ll be sure to give Abraxos as many wildflowers as he wants_ , he silently said to her, feeling her cheeks rise into a smile.

Later, after he cleaned up the mess and they argued about whether Manon would leave in the morning, Dorian watched her as she slept. He’d insisted he would be fine and she’d finally agreed that the meeting was crucial for any hopes of a prolonged peace if they defeated Erawan. 

But as the hours passed and dawn drew closer, Dorian had not been able to fall back to sleep. Whenever he shut his eyes for an extended period of time, his head was flooded with horrific images, a mixture of things that had happened, and things that could have been. If Chaol had become his prisoner. 

He’d had time. Time during which he’d hoped to heal. But instead, it was only time to remember the things he’d done. 

How could he possibly stand before his best friend now? Now that he harbored the memories of torturing and killing Chaol’s men? 

Dorian shuddered and forced down the bile that rose in his throat. Manon didn’t stir next to him and for a moment he thought of asking her to stay. He knew she would. But he also knew that sooner or later he would need to face Chaol and what he’d done. 

When rosy light began to filter into their tent and Manon woke with a yawn, Dorian pretended that he was just waking too. She kissed his forehead, her lips lingering for a long moment, then stood and began rummaging through her packs. He watched her quietly, letting her presence, her scent, her everything soak into him. Helping make him feel a little bit stronger. Hoping it would be enough to see him through the next few weeks.


	27. Rekindled 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a single chapter on Asterin reuniting with Manon. But the "1" in the title should tell you that's not what happened lol. This will probably be three parts. Most of it is already written so updates should be faster than normal. I love Asterin and really hope I do her justice with this story.

Asterin glared at the men standing guard in front of the tent. As she walked back and forth, she couldn’t help but smile each time she noticed the tremors overtake the larger man’s hands. The other one though. He was about her height but his eyes followed her every movement, his hand firmly on the pommel of his sword. _Smart human_ , she thought.

“You really should tell them who is here,” she said with a sweet smile, holding back the urge to flash her iron teeth. “They’ll be much angrier to know you’ve kept me waiting out here for the past ten minutes.” The less cowardly of the two guards didn’t bother to answer. Not even a nod or shake of the head. Asterin cracked her knuckles and continued to pace.

When voices became raised inside the tent, she stopped. The guards looked at each other nervously and all three of them focused their attention on what was happening inside. The voices were muffled but quickly became more distinct as the volume and agitation increased.

“It’s not your call Dorian,” a deep male voice shouted. “I am in charge of these armies and I will not let an opportunity like this slip through my fingers!”

Calming words from a female were too quiet to hear clearly. _Definitely not Manon_ , Asterin thought, wondering about Abraxos’s presence near the horse stables. Perhaps she was somewhere else in the camp. Or Dorian had-

Her thought was interrupted by the King’s voice. “…is my place. I have forces here as well. What you call an opportunity, I call a threat. Not just to my kingdom, but to all of them.”

“And what kingdom exactly? The last time I looked you had none. And those paltry forces you’ve scrounged up from Adarlanian refugees-.”

A fist struck the table. “Enough Aedion!”

 _That must be Lysandra_ , Asterin realized. She’d never met her, but she already liked her.

Dorian’s voice was pure ice. “Regardless of what you think Aedion, I am the King of Adarlan. And I will command my _paltry_ forces how I see fit. Manon will command hers as she sees fit. And I will not sit by and risk another incident like Skull’s Bay.”

As Asterin idly nodded in approval, a low snarl sounded from the tent. Both guards glanced at her, uncertain if they should intervene inside or stay to watch her.

“The hell with this,” she mumbled and strode towards the tent, sending the smaller guard back with a shove to his chest while the other merely watched her go by.

She entered to find Lysandra - a perfect copy of Aelin – trying to hold Aedion back from Dorian, who was not backing down from the General. She’d been right, Manon wasn’t here. While part of her heart sank from knowing she had to wait to see her cousin, Asterin didn’t falter. She moved immediately to stand in front of Dorian, hand on her sword.

“Who the hell are you?” Aedion yelled. “How did you get in here?”

Iron teeth now bared, Asterin unleashed a menacing growl.

Lysandra, her arms straining against Aedion, cut him off. “Asterin! You’re back. Is she…” She seemed hesitant to ask outright if Aelin was with her, or even alive. As he realized who stood before him, Aedion’s temper dissipated and his face flooded with worry. The guards finally came running in but with a sharp slice of her hand, Lysandra sent them back out.

Asterin glanced back at Dorian. He’d recognized her immediately, and now, his eyes were moving between her sword hand and Aedion. Turning back to Lysandra, she retracted her teeth and said, “She was in bad shape when we found her, but she’s alive and healing. We lost no one from our group. But…” She paused, still frustrated by the failure. “Maeve was able to escape. Fenrys helped get Ael-” she caught herself at the last second. “He helped get her out but he’s still bound by the blood oath.”

“Where are they?” Lysandra asked.

“They should reach Terrasen in a day or two. Briar is escorting the ship and I came ahead to let you know. So you can…” She looked around at all three of them before focusing on Lysandra. “Make the exchange. Without an audience. Though they may not want to come to Orynth right away. Like I said, she may still need some time.”

The shapeshifter looked to Aedion and said, “Then let’s leave now so we can meet them first thing.” To Dorian, she added, “This matter can be settled once she’s returned.”

Dorian nodded. Asterin caught the glint in his eye and got the impression his gesture was nothing more than a vague acknowledgement, not an actual agreement. Whatever they’d been arguing about was already decided in his mind.

Lysandra took Aedion’s arm and pulled him away. Before they left, she turned and bowed. “Thank you Asterin. For all of your help.”

Asterin didn’t think she was just referring to Aelin’s return. “You’re welcome,” she said, directing it only to Lysandra. Then, to Aedion, she drawled, “Your father is safely returned too by the way. In case you were worried about him.” She probably should have kept her mouth shut, but she wasn’t cut that way. He stared daggers at her as he was led from the tent. Leaving her alone with Dorian.

As if reading her mind, he said, “Manon isn’t here. Our forces camp closer to Perranth. If we fly straight through the night we can be there by late morning.”

“What?” Asterin scowled. “Why so far?”

Sighing, Dorian said, “It’s a mutual agreement. Let’s just say there’s been a lot to overcome to keep this alliance intact.” He motioned her ahead and they made their way back out into the bustling camp. As they passed the pissed off guard, Asterin mouthed an apology and winked. He maintained a frown, but she didn’t think the red blooming on his cheeks was just from anger.

“There was an issue with the witch forces refusing to swear an oath of loyalty to Terrasen,” Dorian said with a shake of his head, as if still in disbelief of the demand. “They are allies against Erawan. And now Maeve. But there will be no kneeling.”

“Obviously,” Asterin said, mildly impressed by the amount of disdain she managed to put into that single word.

“We also refuse to hand over the wyrdkeys, so… It’s been a bit tense,” he continued.

“I gathered that,” she snorted. “What exactly did I walk in on back there?”

Dorian stopped and looked around them. “Not here.”

Eyebrows raised, Asterin asked, “Why do I get the feeling I’ve arrived just in time to save your asses again?”

He laughed and continued walking. “You know, we’ve never even been introduced but I feel like I’ve known you for a long time.”

“Yeah well, I’m sure you’ve heard nothing but good stories about me from Manon.” The emotion drained from his face and he made no reply. She eyed him suspiciously as they neared the stables. When they were away from listening ears, she stopped him and asked, “What happened?”

Dorian studied her for several moments, then finally said, “The Blackbeak Matron is dead.”

Asterin flinched at the blunt statement. She couldn’t do anything but stare into those brilliant blue eyes, aware that everything she felt was written plainly on her face. Hate, fear, anger, relief. Satisfaction. But then she realized…

“Manon did it?”

Dorian nodded solemnly. “It’s her story to tell. All of it is actually…” He trailed off and turned away, heading towards their waiting wyverns. “But I wanted you to know before you see her.“

“Why? Is she ok?” Asterin ran to catch up with him, suddenly frantic with worry. Why wouldn’t he look at her?

“She’s fine. Physically,” Dorian said, facing her again, resolved to get out whatever was so hard for him to say. “But she struggles with what she had to do. She doesn’t talk about it because she doesn’t want the others to see her grieve.”

Asterin couldn’t stop the flash of disbelief on her face. _Grieve_? Manon _knew_ how evil the Matron was. Grandmother or not, how could she grieve that bitch’s death?!

His eyes grew cold, boring into her. “I know some of your history with the Matron, Asterin. So I see how that might be difficult to understand. But I will not let anyone make Manon feel guilty for this.”

She froze. He knew about her witchling. And he was threatening her? Her! Manon’s second. _How dare he!_ But before her temper could explode, she sensed what was really happening. Dorian was protecting Manon. From any possible threat.

Understanding snapped inside her. “You’re her mate,” she whispered, eyes wide. He didn’t seem surprised by what she said. He only nodded, the determination not leaving his face. She blinked and saw Ethan. Her hunter. Her human mate, who’d died waiting, hoping, for her to return to him.

As her tears threatened to fall, Dorian spoke again, the coldness of moments ago replaced with kindness. “I’m sorry for all you’ve gone through Asterin. All you’ve lost. You mean the world to Manon and I don’t want to overstep.” He dropped his head, running his hand through his dark hair. “I just don’t want her to suffer anymore at the hands of the Matron.” His gaze returned to hers and she saw his pain. And his love. “Even in death she has her claws sunk into Manon. I won’t let her be dragged down any further.”

Asterin nodded slowly, rubbing her face with a dirty sleeve. “I would never hurt her,” she said.

“I know,” Dorian replied. “Please forgive me, Asterin. For,” he motioned to himself, “…this. I can get a little defensive. Even when there’s nothing to defend against.”

She wanted to ask for details about what happened but could tell he had no intention of saying more. Manon was alive and well. That was her main concern.

Silence hung heavy as she mounted Sylph and waited for him to ready Abraxos for flight. Asterin liked and respected Dorian. And she appreciated his instinct to protect Manon. But learning they were mates had undone something inside of her. Of course she was happy for them. But…

She felt like she was in a free fall, her equilibrium jolted so far from center, she wasn’t sure how to balance herself. And not just because it brought back thoughts of Ethan. She always thought of him and their witchling. The feelings stirring inside her weren’t edged with that sadness, or any new jealousy. It was fear. Something that had been slowly building and eating away at her for a while now.

Dorian and Manon being mates wasn’t the cause. It was just the slap in the face to make her realize what she was really afraid of. Asterin gave herself another mental slap to come to her senses. She wasn’t going to waste her time thinking about something she didn’t want and didn’t need. _Doesn’t matter anyway_ , she thought, patting Sylph’s neck affectionately when the wyvern stretched back to check on her. _It’s done now._

Dorian cleared his throat to indicate he was ready. He was watching her, no doubt worried he’d offended her. He had, of course. But she couldn’t argue with his intentions. And she didn’t think many kings would apologize so quickly, and with such sincerity. It made her like him even more.

With an easy smile, she accepted his apology. “The bond stirs up a lot of emotions. I’m glad she’s had someone else looking out for her.”

Dorian wrapped the reins around a hand, returning her smile. “I appreciate the compliment but it’s mostly been the other way around.”

She snorted and shook her head, certain he was underestimating himself. But it sparked a memory. A desperate flight to Rifthold. A few slaughtered valg. Holding down the vomit from the putrid stench of their blood while Manon painted her message for Aelin on wall after wall after wall around the city. “I’m also glad you two got over that awkward blame-it-on-a-life-debt phase of your relationship.”

Laughing, he said, “We lost track of who owes who a long time ago.” Then, more serious, “I know I still owe you. Not just for the last minute rescue in Ellywe.”

Unsure of how much Manon told him about the aftermath of that second excursion to Rifthold, Asterin asked roughly, “Did you help with the Matron?”

Dorian’s expression grew cold and he nodded. But as she watched him, she saw more underneath the ice. Relief and a sense of… Regret. Like he’d broken a promise. To Manon or himself, she couldn’t tell. “I would have done it myself. Not just to spare Manon the pain.”

Her mouth twisted into a cruel, approving grin and she bowed her head. “Then we are even, Your Majesty.” His brow furrowed slightly and she asked, “What?”

“None of the Thirteen ever use my title.” He shrugged. “It’s kind of nice to hear.”

In a flash, the darkness of the past moment was gone and Asterin laughed. With a flourish of her hand, she crooned, “Would His Majesty do the honors of setting us off on our journey?“

“Shit,” Dorian muttered, realizing he was now in for relentless teasing.

“ _Such language_ ,” she said, positively aghast. The fact that he’d cursed only elevated him in her eyes.

He bit back a smile. “I am nothing if not a gentleman. After you, My Lady,” he purred.

 _Well, shit_ , she agreed. In love with Manon. Respectful. Humble. Swears. An excellent prospect for teasing banter. _He’s not bad to look at either_ , she thought with a smirk.

“As you command,” she said. A quick tug on the reins and Sylph burst into the air, screaming in delight to be flying. Abraxos followed, roaring his agreement. Her wyvern dipped closer to him and nudged his neck.

 _I’m not the only one happy to be back_ , Asterin thought warmly. Her heart leapt knowing she would soon be with Manon again.

 

* * *

 

The attempts to integrate the ruks and wyverns into a single aerial force were not going very well. Manon glanced to Nesryn and Borte, keeping track of their every expression as some of their birds tried a few passes overhead. A slim majority of the animals tolerated each other. It could even be said that some got along. _Or not_ , Manon thought, cringing as a Rukhin rider pulled her ruk up just before its talons could slash through an outstretched wyvern wing.  

The beasts were kept separate on the ground, each maintaining a paddock on either side of the sprawling camp. The few times they’d tried combining them had ended in one too many brutal fights. In the air, they weren’t much better. Unless they stayed completely apart from each other. But if they wanted to use them effectively, they’d need to learn to work together in tight flight patterns and attacks. Neither animals minded the Crochans flying within and around them on brooms. They could not use the witches as a buffer though. All three had to work as a single entity.

“Damn lizards!” A wyvern had just snapped its tail at a passing ruk and Borte whirled on Manon. “I thought they were supposed to defer to the alpha. Why haven’t they listened to him?”

Nesryn kept her eyes in the air, on Sartaq, her mouth closed tight in frustration. Kadara was the alpha ruk but in all the chaos, she was having a hard time maintaining control.

Manon took a deep breath. She would not lose her temper with this girl. It was what Borte wanted and Manon refused to give her the satisfaction. “ _Lizards_ and birds are not exactly friendly. You cannot expect them to overcome their innate dislike in a matter of weeks.” Unable to stop herself, she gave the girl a little smile. “And Abraxos isn’t up there. I’d think my presence here on the ground would make that obvious.”

Borte narrowed her eyes but Nesryn caught the girl’s arm and pulled her back to watch the activity above. When Borte again became focused on the animals, Nesryn turned and gave Manon an apologetic smile. Manon waved it off. She liked Borte. Maybe not as much as she liked Nesryn, with whom she felt a strong kinship. But she shared the girl’s frustrations. She hadn’t expected the ruks and wyverns to take this long to acclimate either.

The Rukhin, Borte especially, were fierce fighters and she’d quickly come to respect them. Another point in their favor - they loved their ruks as much as the witches loved their wyverns. It was not lost on Manon that Borte had chosen the runt of the nest. Just as she had chosen her own runt. And she was heir to an imposing legacy. Just as Manon had been. But the girl knew how to press buttons and enjoyed doing so. While it was entertaining to watch her unleash it on others, Manon didn’t appreciate being on the receiving end. 

“Once Dorian is back, all training formations will include Abraxos and Kadara,” Manon offered. “And we will try again to get them used to each other on the ground.” Borte shot her a skeptical look. “It needs to be consistent, round the clock training. They’ll never learn to fight together until they get over being skittish and terrified.”

Borte mumbled something that sounded like “The ruks aren’t the ones doing the terrorizing.”

Nesryn bit her lip but Manon just ignored it. Borte was partly right. But even when Abraxos, perfectly docile and unassuming, sat near the ruk nests, a few of the birds responded by puffing up defensively, clicking their huge beaks, and baring their giant talons.

Out of nowhere, Manon sensed Dorian approaching, returning much earlier than expected. Thankful for the excuse to leave while her temper was still under control, she said, “I’ll check in later,” and left Nesryn and Borte to oversee the training.

Dorian was still a few miles away, but he was close enough for them to speak through their bond.

_Back so soon? The talks must have gone well._

She felt his laugh. _Of course. How could you expect anything less when Aedion and I bump heads?_

_Maybe Aven or Petrah should have gone. He has no history with them._

_I don’t think it would have mattered. His mind is set._

After he told her about the two days of failed meetings, she sighed. _I suppose we’ll have to take care of it ourselves then._ In truth, she had not expected Aedion to support them. But she was still disappointed; had still hoped he would see the danger and choose to work together.

 _Yes,_ Dorian agreed _. And as soon as possible too. Aedion is going to be distracted for the foreseeable future. But_ _cheer up Witchling. I’m not coming back empty-handed._

It was then that she felt he was not alone. And the traveler accompanying him felt… like family. Wild. The fire to her ice. Bursting into a grin that stretched from ear to ear, Manon took off running straight for the wyvern paddock.

 

* * *

 

As they crested a hill, Asterin’s jaw dropped at the sight before her. Flying in the distance were small groups of wyverns, brooms swarming around them. And… and giant, eagle-like birds swooping in and out of the formations. The numbers of the wyverns didn’t make sense to her. Unless the Crochans somehow managed to have their own. But no, they’d be the ones on brooms. And who the rutting hell was on the birds? Something brushed against her thoughts and she remembered hearing about a people from the Southern Continent who fought on the backs of birds. Roks, or rooks… something like that. _Godsdamn. They did pick up some new allies._

After a stunned few moments, she twisted to see Dorian grinning at her. “You two have been busy,” she called out, somehow managing to keep the comment free of innuendo. “I’m impressed!”

Descending towards the camp, Asterin saw a white-haired figure running towards the fenced-in field. Both wyverns dropped straight down in a free fall as Asterin whooped in joy. They whipped out their wings at the last second and landed gracefully. But she was off Sylph in an instant and running towards Manon.

When they met, there was none of the awkwardness from their reunion on the Eyllwe beach. No excitement choked down from old fears of being reprimanded. Nothing held back. This time, with Manon smiling like a fool and Asterin’s eyes wet with tears, they came together as if they’d been kept apart for years. This time, they met in a savage embrace, squeezing each other so tightly that neither had the breath for words. Not that Asterin had words anyway.

She had missed Manon more than she’d let herself admit, ignoring her feelings not from the ingrained rules of the Matron. But because she’d been afraid of coming back to find Manon hurt. Or worse. Asterin wasn’t quite sure what she would ever do if she lost her cousin, her reason for living for so many years. Even though things were changing, Manon was still her closest family. Her best friend.

“I missed you,” Manon whispered roughly in her ear.

Asterin laughed and broke away from her, wiping tears from her face. “I gathered that. I missed you too.”

They resumed their hug and stayed like that for several minutes. Asterin couldn’t help but wonder at the affection Manon was so easily displaying. Not that she would ever complain or tease her for it. It warmed her heart to see her cousin so free, so full of life and happiness.

Someone coughed loudly behind them. “I came back too,” Dorian said.

Both witches turned to see the King pouting as he unloaded bags from Abraxos. But he couldn’t hold the look for very long before breaking into a quiet laugh.

“Does he do this a lot?” Asterin asked, feigning annoyance.

Manon rolled her eyes but she was smiling. A smile Asterin had never seen before. A smile that broke her heart and filled it at the same time. “You get used to it,” Manon replied. After a moment of silent staring between the two, she added. “I have a lot to tell you. Briar? Aelin?”

“Safe. They’ll all be landing in a couple days.” Asterin said, turning to see to Sylph.

But Dorian shook his head. “You two go on. I’ll take care of the wyverns and have a tent set up for you Asterin. Near ours in the center of camp if that suits you. My Hand and Captain of the Guard will want to hear about everything. And they have news of their own to share. We can all talk over dinner.”

Asterin thanked him as Manon gave him a quick kiss. The next instant, she was being pulled away by Manon, who glanced back to give Dorian a nod. She caught Dorian’s wink and something finally clicked. “You two can speak through the bond?”

Manon halted for a moment in surprise, then continued into the woods nearby, away from the wyverns and other witches. “You know about that?”

“I didn’t know of it personally.” She and Ethan were mates, but since he had no magical ability, she’d suspected some aspects of the bond didn’t work for them. “But Thea and Kaya mentioned it once.”

Now Manon looked dumbstruck. And hurt. “They’re mates?” she whispered.

“I knew if the Matron found out…” And just like that, Manon’s face turned to stone, but Asterin continued as if nothing had happened. “I ordered them to hide it so they weren’t punished and no one else was put in jeopardy.”

“But you knew. That we were capable of mating bonds.”

Asterin sighed. This was not the conversation she wanted to have right now. “I found out the hunter… Ethan. His name was Ethan,” she said, then took a deep breath. “I found out… after. I’d felt a connection to him. But I couldn’t explain it until I overheard Vesta babbling about something Ghislaine had once told her. Something she’d read in a book long ago. After that, I put it together.” A sickly pallor washed over Manon. Cold dread filled Asterin’s insides as she remembered Dorian’s refusal to tell her anything. “What’s wrong?”

 

* * *

 

In her excitement to see Asterin safely returned, Manon had forgotten about the fact that she’d have to break the news of Vesta’s death. It felt like both an eternity and only a day since they’d parted on that Eyllwe beach. And now, there was one less member of the Thirteen to welcome Asterin back.

“Manon. What happened?” Her cousin’s eyes were wide with what looked like fear, though Manon didn’t think she’d ever seen Asterin afraid.

There was no way around it, so she simply said, “The Darkness claimed Vesta.”

Asterin stared, shaking her head back and forth. “No.” She turned and began to walk away. “No.” The word was repeated over and over, becoming less forceful, less certain with each repetition. Asterin stopped, then slowly sank to her knees. Manon had followed and was there to catch her.

There was no crying, but Manon suspected it would come soon. Vesta and Asterin were like sisters. They were friends in a witch clan where friendship was forbidden. Asterin was trying to breathe, her grip on Manon’s arms hard enough that if she’d been mortal, the bones would have snapped. But Manon didn’t move. She’d have gladly let Asterin break all of the bones in her body if it meant they could have Vesta here with them.

“How?” The word, short as it was, broke apart at the grief in her voice.

Manon swallowed. “She was captured by Iskra and the Matron at Morath. We found her body in a Crochan village that they’d burned to the ground.”

Asterin’s eyes closed tightly as the tears finally came. “I wasn’t there. To save her.” She looked at Manon. “She and Sorrel saved me when I wanted to die. And I didn’t save her. I should have come back right away. I shouldn’t have helped the Fae.”

“No,” Manon said brutally. “It was my decision to split us up. It was my fault she was there. You bear no blame in this.” But her cousin was quickly succumbing to despair. Trying to keep her from becoming lost entirely, Manon shook her gently and said, “Both of you followed _my_ orders Asterin. And she died trying to save Edda. She did her duty as a witch. As one of the Thirteen. She will be honored. Until we can all be together, all of us claimed by the Darkness. We will find a way to truly honor her.”

They sat in each other’s arms for what felt like hours, Asterin quietly sobbing, and Manon somehow remaining strong for her cousin. Eventually, Manon said, “We still have some of her ashes. When Briar gets here, we can hold a proper ceremony.”

Asterin nodded and sat up. “I ruined your shirt,” she said with a sniff.

Manon looked down to find a wet spot spreading along her shoulder where Asterin had been crying. “I have others,” she replied, relieved at the hint of humor in Asterin’s voice.

“Dorian told me about the Matron,” Asterin admitted, not bothering to wipe the tears from her face. Manon’s heart caught in her throat at the prospect of having to answer questions. But Asterin only asked, “What about Iskra? If that piece of shit is still alive, she’s mine.”

Manon couldn’t help the small smile that spread across her face. “She’s been taken care of actually. A Crochan witchling owed Iskra for the death of her father. And Abraxos took a piece of the revenge for himself.”

Asterin tilted her head, eyes still gleaming in grief, but also with admiration. “Well done, Abraxos.”

“He is one of the Thirteen,” Manon said with pride.

They were quiet until Asterin looked at her and said, “Please don’t expect me to feel bad about the Matron. I know it’s more complicated for you but… I can’t feel anything but relief that she’s gone.” She reached for Manon’s hand but hesitated and drew back. “I’m sorry you had to go through that though.”

Manon wondered how much Dorian had told her, guessing it wasn’t a lot. And so, because it was Asterin, and because she wasn’t being prodded for specifics, Manon thought she could talk about what had happened.

“She put a wyrdstone collar on him.” Asterin whirled, confirming Manon’s suspicions that he hadn’t gone into detail. “She tortured him, then almost killed Abraxos and my niece.” At the puzzled expression, she clarified, “The witchling who took care of Iskra.”

“I already like your Crochan family,” Asterin said. “Seems I owe her a drink. Or ten.”

“She had a collar intended for me as well,” Manon continued, as Asterin became serious again. “She sent hundreds of Yellowlegs and Blackbeaks into battle. Ordered them to yield, and sacrifice themselves to kill Crochans. All as a distraction so she could try to steal the keys from us.” She fought back the tears filling her eyes. “I injured her, but couldn’t bring myself to end her.” Her eyes found Asterin’s and she almost sobbed with relief to see there was no judgment there, no disgust or anger at her words. “It was what she wanted. One last chance to make me into her monster. But, I didn’t want to be her monster anymore. I left her to die but she tried… Dorian held her with his magic and I killed her.”

Asterin said nothing as she pulled Manon against her into an embrace. “You never deserved what she did to you.”

“Neither did you Asterin. None of us did.”

 

* * *

 

Asterin rolled around on her cot, unable to get comfortable. Dorian had her things brought to Sorrel’s tent, which suited her better than being alone. Her stomach roiled at the realization that under different circumstances, she’d be sharing this tent with Sorrel and Vesta.

It had taken hours for her to breathe properly after finding out Vesta was gone. Hearing that Iskra and the Matron were both dead did little to alleviate the pain. In fact, it stung more knowing she had no one to retaliate against. No vengeance to seek for Vesta’s suffering. And none for her own. She wasn’t one to harp on revenge. But in this instance, she thought it would have been satisfying endeavor.

That too-brief flash of relief she’d felt upon learning of the Matron’s death was all but gone now too. So much had been taken from her over the years. Taken from Manon. From all of the Thirteen. Everything Manon had told her about the Ironteeth matrons’ lies… The murders of so many Blackbeak witches who’d defied them… The bonds, the magic, the corruption… It had all been too much for her to process.

So, here she was tossing and turning with Sorrel sleeping nearby.

With effort, Asterin decided to focus instead on everything else she’d learned. She’d met Manon’s Crochan grandmother, Aven, who’d hugged her right after they were introduced. The gesture made her think Manon’s newfound openness didn’t just stem from her bond with Dorian. The niece who killed Iskra had not yet returned from a scouting mission. The Crochans she’d come into contact with were reserved, but for the most part civil. Some were clearly not interested in anything beyond a temporary alliance for this war. Others were more open to the permanent peace for which Manon and Petrah were pushing.

Gods they had a damned lot of work ahead of them. Assuming they even survived the mission they were leaving on tomorrow. With Aedion and Lysandra busy tending to Aelin, Manon and Dorian had decided the timing was too good to pass up.

And if they made it through that, then they’d need to survive the war.

She supposed they stood a good chance. Better than she’d thought before reaching Terrasen. Aelin needed time but Asterin had no doubt Rowan and the Queen would do whatever it took to defeat Maeve and Erawan. Now, Manon and Dorian had the keys, a witch army, and powerful allies from the Southern Continent. They both also had magic beyond her comprehension.

As she did. Possibly. Aven’s offer to train her to control her yielding power had been yet another surprise in a long day of them.

All at once, she was wondering what Gavriel would make of her having magic. _He’d probably say he wasn’t surprised_ , she thought, a small smile forming on her lips. That question led to more. Would his son treat him poorly? Would he accept Aelin’s offer to join her court? Would she ever see him again? And before she could stop it, a memory overtook her.

 

 

_The stars looked so different from the middle of the sea than they did from land. It was as pitch black here as on any mountain top. But they seemed to shine more brightly. Maybe it was the expansive view of sky that the ocean afforded, no trees or peaks or buildings to obscure anything. Asterin didn’t waste much time pondering the question. She was too caught up in the dusty swaths of light that arced across the darkness. Watching the constellations creep over that background brought a sense of peace she rarely felt. She even enjoyed seeing the Hunter appear on the horizon. It served as a good reminder of what she was fighting for. Not that she really ever forgot._

_The ropes shifted and she glanced down to see Gavriel climbing towards her perch in the ship’s rigging. When he reached her and secured himself, looping a line around his legs, she said, “Your reaction to your first wyvern ride made me think that you don’t care for heights.”_

_He tried to look nonchalant. “You’ve spent hours up here every night since we left. Even when you’re not on watch. I thought I’d come and see what’s so interesting.”_

_She turned away so he wouldn’t see her eyes roll. Or the smile she tried to bite back.  
_

_Asterin had flown him and Elide back to the ship from Ellywe a few days ago. But it wasn’t until she and Briar decided to stay and help Rowan that she’d really noticed him.  
_

_It was actually for Elide that they stayed. The witchling had been devastated by Aelin’s capture, blaming not only Lorcan but herself as well. Once they’d announced they would continue on to help, Elide had perked up. The choice was easy and hard at the same time. Elide needed them and she was part of their coven. But already, Asterin was missing Manon and the others. After becoming official members of this rescue mission, she didn’t know when, or if, she’d see them again.  
_

_But Gavriel was turning into an interesting development.  
_

_Elide told them about her weeks spent searching for Aelin, all the way up to the moment the Thirteen had arrived. Asterin had growled at the mention of Fenrys accidentally wounding her. So Elide went into great detail about Gavriel’s gentleness and skill when healing her arm. The witchling went on to describe his utter despair at Maeve’s breaking of their blood oath.  
_

_Briar had wrinkled her nose in dismissal. “He’s either an idiot or was under some kind of spell to follow that bitch for so long.”_

_“You’re calling_ him _an idiot?” Asterin had asked angrily. “And who exactly have we been taking orders from these last hundred years?” The accusation stung Briar and she had the good sense to apologize. Although Manon was the Thirteen’s leader, the Matron had ultimately been ruling their lives since the day they were born. “Everyone comes to their own truth in their own time,” she’d said. “Forcing it on someone doesn’t do anyone any good.”  
_

_She found herself watching Gavriel more often after that conversation. Rowan tried interacting with him, as did Lorcan. But both males were dealing with their own losses. Asterin began wondering what had kept him with the Fae Queen for so long. Wondering if he truly believed Maeve’s words that he was no longer a male of honor. Manon was not Maeve, but Asterin felt she could sympathize with his loneliness in that instance. Just the_ threat _of banishment from the Thirteen had hit her as hard as the actual act would have. Even Sorrel and Vesta hadn’t been able to console her. It was a risk to confess everything to Manon. But she’d responded by reinstating Asterin as Second, an act of love and acceptance she had craved for a long time.  
_

_Intent on showing Gavriel he wasn’t alone, she’d begun striking up conversations with him at mealtime or when they were assigned a similar task on the ship.  
_

_Now, turning back to face him, she sighed dramatically. “Sadly, it’s only the sky.”_

_He gazed upward and then all around before focusing back on her. “I wouldn’t call that sad. Do you know the names of many stars?”_

_“Stars? No. Constellations? Yes,” she said, and began pointing them out. “The Cauldron, the Sword, Deanna’s Bow.” She skipped the Hunter and pointed to some random blob of stars. “And that one is the Bloodthirsty Witch.”_

_Gavriel squinted. “Hmmm. I thought that was known as the Vicious Fae Warrior.”_

_Asterin snorted a laugh. “Yes, well, apparently we had different teachers,” she said._

_They sat in silence, watching the stars. Asterin noted how easy it was to sit with him and say nothing. Nodding at his white-knuckled grasp of the ropes, she asked, “Are heights easier when you’re in your lion form?”_

_His grip loosened and he tried to relax, but he wasn’t fooling her. “I don’t mind trees. In either form. And this isn’t that bad. I have some control.” He tugged on the ropes for emphasis. “But I have to admit. That wyvern ride was… Well, I’ve never been that high in the air before. I don’t know how you witches managed on tiny brooms. At least with a wyvern you’ve got some heft under you.”_

_She smiled, wondering how he’d take to Sylph’s more acrobatic moves. “We are born hearing the call of the wind,” she said. “Brooms, wyverns, it doesn’t matter. So long as we can fly, we will.”_

_He was still looking at her and Asterin suddenly felt uncomfortable. She was used to the male gaze. Witches were born to fly, but also with such beauty as to attract constant attention. Usually attention laced with vulgar desire or contempt. Gavriel’s gaze was completely different. His eyes, appearing almost hazel in the low moonlight, were soft and kind. Nothing close to what she was used to from a male. With one exception. She looked away and resumed her scan of the sky._

_He cleared his throat and said, “It must have been hard. Those years without magic or wyverns.”_

_“Yes,” she agreed dismissively. When he shifted back to view the sky, she noticed her heart had sped up. Certain he could sense the change, she breathed deep, willing herself to calm._

_“Your Queen’s wyvern is quite the conundrum,” he said, more than a hint of admiration in his voice. “I had to keep an eye on him while they were on our ship. He didn’t require much guarding. But when the ilken attacked us, he was a sight to see. I imagine your mount is just as fierce.”_

_Asterin smiled at the accurate description of Abraxos, and his attempt to kiss her ass by complimenting her wyvern. Gavriel was so transparent, yet utterly sincere. She found herself more and more charmed by him. “I didn’t know you’d been attacked. Was anyone hurt?”_

_The softness of his features flickered. “My son was injured. Though, not badly. And Fenrys too. We lost several members of the crew.” Then, with an odd little smile and crooked eyebrow, he added, “One of Erawan’s bloodhounds tracked Manon there. But Dorian took care of it.”_

_“Oh?” She made no effort to hide her curiosity. “Go on!”_

_Something flashed in his eyes and he looked away, as if suddenly remembering that perhaps it didn’t make for a good story. “Actually there wasn’t much to it.” He shrugged. “The creature made some threats against Manon, then Dorian took its head off with his magic.”_

_Asterin blinked. She wanted to press him for every detail, but his expression had closed up, his body tense. He looked… angry. And she couldn’t imagine what would make him upset about the bloodhound attacking Manon. After another long silence, she brushed it off as leftover concern for his son during the battle.  
_

_But… She had to ask. “So. Did anything else happen between them that I should know about?”_

_Gavriel’s cheeks flamed red._

_Asterin threw her head back and laughed. “Thank the Goddess!” she cried, raising her hands into the air. “If I had to help her rescue him again and pretend it was because of some godsdamned life debt that’s been repaid a hundred times…” She trailed off as he began to laugh.  
_

_“I wondered if they had a history,” he admitted, his lips curling into a sly smile.  
_

_Forcing herself to look skyward, Asterin said, “It’s not a long history. But it’s a meaningful one. Especially for her.” She risked a glance to find him staring at her again._

_“I’d say it is for him as well,” he said._

_Just then, a shooting star zoomed overhead, leaving a trail of light in its wake. They both gasped as another appeared. And another. Gavriel relaxed further back into the rigging. “There’s definitely nothing sad about this.”_

 

 

Asterin frowned at how easily he’d popped into her head. How quickly it had led to that night under the stars.

 _No_ , she thought angrily. She couldn’t afford to get caught up in something like that. Not again. The loss of Ethan… their witchling… _No. Not again._

Reminding herself of how she and Gavriel had parted brought the scolding to a stop. But it only added to the ever-present guilt.

Asterin inhaled deeply several times. With each exhale, she selected an emotion or memory, then imagined it disappearing into the air. Inhale. Exhale. There went the shame that had consumed her this past week. Inhale and exhale. There goes the grief from never seeing her witchling, not seeing Vesta one last time. Inhale. Exhale. The disappointment at not being the one to end the Matron and Iskra floated away. One final long breath in, then out. She would not think of the Fae male again.

Rolling over, she began to form a list in her head, a trick Sorrel had once offered as a way to fall asleep. She had to be up early to meet with Nesryn and her Prince, to see how Sylph interacted with the ruks. Go over all the plans with Dorian and Manon. The locations, the expected defenses, the details their spies had gleaned from weeks of reconnaissance. Try to learn a few of the Crochan broom maneuvers so she wasn’t left in the dust. Hope no one ended up getting killed on this suicide mission.

 _Shit_ , she thought, rubbing her eyes. _Nothing like obsessing over impending death to help you fall asleep._

As if on cue, a muffled snort sounded from across the tent. She closed her eyes and sighed as she listened to the alternating silence and odd nasal sounds that were growing louder.

Before Sorrel could fall into her usual snoring routine, Asterin reached over and kicked her gently. Just enough to nudge her onto her side. As peace was restored, Asterin breathed out a laugh. There was no way she’d sleep tonight. But thank the Goddess, she was back with her coven.

 

\- To be continued.


	28. Rekindled 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two of Asterin's side story.  
> Asterin has been reunited with Manon in Terrasen, only for them to leave on a secret mission to Adarlan. (spoiler - I suck at poetry.)

As the last bit of sunlight disappeared below the mountains, the boom of wyvern wings sounded in the sky over Perranth. The magically propelled brooms and feathered wings of the ruks rendered them silent as they flew among the larger beasts. The aerial force, a mixture of Ironteeth, Crochans, and Rukhin, numbered almost fifty strong.

After an hour of flying, Manon called out the order for her group to split off from the main unit, which was to continue south, skirting the border of Oakwald and using it as cover. They would eventually break into smaller raiding parties, each assigned a target in the northern Adarlan countryside. Manon’s riders veered to the east, heading for the ocean, where they’d make their way to Rifthold. Where Erawan had concentrated the largest, deadliest witch mirror towers for his own use.

It had taken weeks for their spies to learn where Erawan had dispatched the towers from Morath and the Ferian Gap. Most were spread out along the border with Terrasen. The valg King apparently felt no need to focus his attention elsewhere, confirming he had no knowledge of the Khagan’s armies gathering with other allies in the south. However, he’d kept three towers back for Rifthold.

The spies reported that much of the city had been left as rubble after the Ironteeth attack months ago. When Erawan took it over, the harbor was immediately repaired and made ready for warships and any other vessels he’d commandeered for use in his defensive blockade. The bulk of his armies set up camp within and around the city. He’d restored just enough to keep the city functioning while maintaining complete control. Civilians who had been unable to escape were now trapped inside, with magic-wielders turned into valg soldiers and the remainder forced into slave labor to support the armies and navy.

Dorian hadn’t slept for days after learning of his people’s fate, blaming himself for abandoning them. No one could reason with him or get through to him. Until Manon pointed out that had he stayed, he would either be dead or in a collar. Neither option more useful than his current station, alive and fighting to defeat Erawan and free his people. She’d also reminded him that if he’d thrown his life away, none of them would be here. No Crochan and Ironteeth allies. No her. She hated herself for it, easing one guilt by throwing others in his face. But it had worked.

It worked for both of them, motivating them to take on this mission. If Erawan used the mirrors on their forces, they would be obliterated. But to their surprise, their largest obstacle had come from within. Aedion wanted to steal the enchanted mirrors, arguing that with Aelin’s power, they could turn them back on the valg.

Dorian, Manon, Petrah, and Aven insisted that the weapons should be destroyed. The witches understood the mirrors’ potential for annihilation, but than Dorian told them about Aelin’s near ruin of Skull’s Bay. If one key opened her up to possession by a goddess and unleashed the destructive power of which she was capable… What if the mirrors were at her disposal and that happened again? What if she was taken by a valg?

Bottom line, there were too many what ifs, too many chances for the mirrors to blow up in their faces. They were too much of a threat, both now and in the future. Not just to Erilea, but their entire world.

Lysandra had been somewhat sympathetic to their argument, but Aedion refused, accusing them of not trusting Aelin. Manon argued that she and Dorian shouldn’t be trusted with the mirrors either, along with any other powerful magic wielders. Absent from her argument was the fact that they didn’t need his permission. They only wanted it for the good of their alliance. But he couldn’t be swayed.

So, while they tried to change his mind, their spies gathered information and the witches planned. Based on the intelligence they had, the Crochan elders developed some spells that should render the mirrors useless. Should. Aven was confident they’d work, but there was no way to experiment beforehand.

With the locations and the spells, they were left with choosing who to send. Members from all three witch clans were selected and the most powerful Crochans were spread throughout the teams to shield and perform the negation spells. Then, one day shortly after Chaol and Nesryn had arrived, Manon was eyeing a group of ruks when Sartaq approached. Dorian had spoken to him about their concerns. While the Prince was loathe to insert himself into their disagreement with Aedion, he’d come to offer his help. Not just to protect his people during the coming conflict. He shared their worry for the future. As well as their desire to build something better. A peaceful world where power was not concentrated in the hands of one or two. So they had a force of witches and humans, wyverns and ruks.

Now, as the group separated high above the Terrasen foothills, Manon waved to Sorrel and a few others from the Thirteen. She watched asNesryn shared a long look with Sartaq, who then gestured to Borte. And Lyra, the Blueblood who had rescued Edda from Morath, blew a kiss to Petrah. It was risky sending so many of their army’s leaders into danger. But they were the most experienced fighters, the most skilled magic-wielders, the best flyers. She’d made sure they all knew their parts, and none of them needed to be told how vital this mission was to their survival.

With Manon and Dorian in his saddle, Abraxos roared his own goodbye as he led their small force towards the sea. Asterin carried the Crochan captain Aneira with her. Lyra and a young Crochan healer named Jessa rode atop her wyvern, while two Blueblood sisters, Vin and Veda, shared a mount and fell to the back of the formation. Dodging around them, almost playfully, were the three ruks and their riders: Nesryn, Borte, and Sarnai.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They reached the Terrasen coast before noon the following day and took cover in a large sea cave on the rocky beach. Asterin began to suspect something was amiss when Manon and Dorian exchanged a smug look. She thought maybe a ship was coming to ferry them to Rifthold. Erawan’s naval defenses had been a concern in the planning, and while wyverns and ruks were stealthier than a ship, the risk of detection was still high. And it was too far to venture without a place to land. So, perhaps a ship to take them half way?

She was partially right. And yet, very, very wrong.

“What the fuck?!” Asterin doubled over and threw up the last of her breakfast. She heard a few others getting sick nearby. Vin was on her hands and knees. Borte was wide-eyed, lurching to the side before Sarnai caught her, the two girls holding each other upright. She glanced over to see Dorian, hands on his knees, looking sick too. That made her feel better for some reason.

“Sorry about that,” Manon said, sounding perfectly fine and not sorry at all. “It’s actually a little easier to take if you don’t know what’s coming.”

“That sounds like bullshit,” Aneira coughed out, knocking vomit from her boots.

Asterin could only stare at Manon. What she had just done… The power it must have taken… “What was that?” she croaked.

“The Crochans call it winnowing,” Manon replied.

As they all slowly recovered from the nausea of traveling hundreds of miles in little under a minute, Asterin tried to make sense of what had just happened. In the cave, after Manon had ordered them to gather weapons, brooms, and food, she’d had them stand in a close circle holding hands. Borte had made a smart ass comment, earning a sharp nudge from Nesryn and a dirty look from Asterin. Not so much for the comment, but for saying it before Asterin had the chance to. Manon told them to hold on tight, and the next second, they were flying through darkness, spinning madly in a brutal, lashing wind. They landed hard in the middle of a crop field, no ocean in sight.

Dorian moaned. “I thought it was supposed to get easier the more you do it.” Manon shrugged, walking around to check that all the supplies had survived.

“How long has she been doing this?” Asterin asked him. They were both standing now, but she had the feeling the queasiness wasn’t going away anytime soon. She’d never suffered from sea sickness and loved flying. But it was that sense of not knowing which way was up, not being able to orient herself in the darkness that had made her sick.

After a couple of deep breaths, Dorian said, “A while. She’s been practicing taking people and objects with her. Increasing her distance. But this was the farthest she’s gone. And with the most people. The animals were too much but they’ll be safe in the cave.”

Well, that did it. Her nausea faded, and was quickly replaced by anger. “So this was an experiment?” The others perked up now, all of them turning towards Manon.

But she only shrugged again. “If it had been too much, nothing would have happened. It’s not like you were in danger of being split in half. Or falling from the sky.” Watching Manon with bald admiration, Borte said something to Sarnai in Halha, then both girls burst out laughing. Dorian smiled at whatever they said and walked over to see to Vin and Aneira. Lyra was helping Jessa and Veda stand.

“We need to get moving and find cover,” Nesryn said, turning in a circle with a loaded bow. “We can’t get to the city until nightfall.”

Within minutes, they were hidden inside an empty stable close to the field where they’d landed. The building looked abandoned, and the field had been fallow, but Dorian shielded them. Lyra and Nesryn, the only ones not suffering from the winnowing sickness, left to scout their surroundings and make sure they were truly alone. They had time to kill and needed to recover. Even Manon. The use of her magic had taken a lot out of her, despite her unruffled appearance. Asterin stayed close to her cousin, noting her slowed movements. But Dorian was there, always by Manon’s side.

Asterin turned away and released a shaky sigh, hoping old memories wouldn’t surface. Hoping newer ones wouldn’t either. She slumped down against a stall door away from the others, bent her knees, and rested her head on them. She felt Manon’s eyes on her but didn’t acknowledge it. Praying to the Goddess for sleep, Asterin buried her face in her arms and blocked out the quiet talking around her.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Weeks earlier..._

 

“See? It isn’t so bad,” Asterin called over her shoulder. Gavriel’s hands were still locked in a death grip around her waist and she didn’t need to look back to know his eyes were closed. Sylph was gaining altitude slowly, following her rider’s orders perfectly. But the Fae warrior was still nervous from the height. This was the fifth or sixth time she’d taken him up with her to scout. Each time they’d gone higher, and each time he’d been a little less afraid. For some reason, she wanted to make him feel more at ease in the sky. And for some reason, he was game, despite his fear.

Today, the first without a clear sky, they’d flown above the thick layer of clouds. The obscured view was not producing the calming effect she’d hoped for, rather it was making him more nervous. Apparently, not seeing what was below them was worse than the height itself. She twisted around and said calmly, “Gavriel. Look at me.” He opened his eyes and for a second, she was caught off guard by their rich, amber color. Contrasted by his long, dark lashes, they seemed to glow in the sun, reminding her of raw honey straight from the comb. He blinked a few times before his gaze dropped to her mouth. Asterin ignored the glance and said, “I won’t let anything happen to you. Neither will she.” Sylph roared in agreement. Gavriel nodded curtly but the muscles in his face relaxed. “You’re strapped in. You won’t fall,” she added, then faced forward again.

“I might be strapped in, but you’re not,” he said, leaning close enough that she felt the warm brush of his breath. “What if you fall?”

Goosebumps spread across her skin at the same time heat flushed her face and neck. She fought her desire to lean into him and instead, shifted to put a little more space between their bodies. But it did nothing. There was only so much room with two people in the saddle. A little tug on the reins and Slyph responded, rising another forty feet with a single flap of her wings. His hands jerked with the movement but a laugh sounded behind her and she couldn’t stop herself from looking. Gavriel was smiling, eyes wide, finally taking in the view of sunlight bouncing off the billowing clouds below them.

She turned back quickly. _What the hell is this? You’re not some godsdamned witchling just let out of the Keep for the first time!_ She continued to chastise herself to no avail. Every time he adjusted his hold on her, every time he laughed as her wyvern flew a little higher, she felt something shift inside her.

At this altitude, the chilly air was raw and biting, and neither had dressed for the change in temperature. Asterin didn’t mind. To be in the air, flying with the wind in her face, she would gladly suffer through the cold. But she thought she could hear Gavriel’s teeth chattering, so she guided Slyph lower. When they reached the top of the cloud layer, her mount dipped her clawed foot into it, sending up a wake of mist that sparkled in the sunlight before dissipating. The wyvern roared her delight as Asterin and Gavriel laughed.

“You were right,” he said. “It isn’t that bad. I might be able to get used to this.”

Asterin stiffened. In the blink of an eye, she was no longer soaring above the clouds but standing outside a small cabin in the woods. A newly made ironwood broom in both hands. A beautiful, kind-eyed man joking and teasing and trying to sit on it with her. A brief, unbalanced, loopy flight that ended with both of them landing on their butts and laughing. A deep yet jovial voice resonated through her head. “Pretty good for my first time. I just need to get used to it.”

She blinked again and was returned to the here and now. Her grip on the wyvern reins had tightened to the point of pain, and her mouth had gone dry. Except for the bile rising in her throat, which she fought to swallow down. Without looking at him, Asterin turned her head and said, “I think that’s enough for today.” She caught Gavriel’s frown in her peripheral vision but said no more. With a kick of her heel, Slyph descended towards the ship.

*****

The instant she appeared from below deck, Gavriel turned in her direction. Lorcan’s fist slammed into his face and he spun around in a circle, not stopping until he smacked into the side of the ship.

“Shit! Why didn’t you block that?” Lorcan demanded.

Gavriel sank down onto his ass, grateful to now be hidden behind a wall of stacked barrels. “I forgot how strong you are,” he muttered in a daze. Blinking slowly, he flinched when he noticed Lorcan kneeling beside him. Gingerly, he opened and closed his jaw then pinched his nose. Nothing seemed out of place, but his eye was already puffing up, along with his cheek. As Lorcan just stared at him, Gavriel had a childish desire to forego any healing and just let it swell. His magic usually sprang to life at the moment of injury, so pain was rarely ever more than a burst of fire followed by a steady numbness. Unless he willed his magic to stop. As he did whenever Rowan tattooed him. As he wanted to do more and more often since Ellywe.

“So,” Lorcan drawled, pulling him out of his hazy thoughts, “what’s the deal with the witch?”

“Witch?”

With a snort, Lorcan said, “I didn’t hit you that hard. Get up.”

 _Witch? Ah yes_ , Gavriel thought. She’d been the one to distract him just now. _What had she done again?_ Remembering that she’d done nothing but appear, his cheeks heated. Well, his left cheek. The right one was already an angry, red mess. Lorcan was still looking at him, which meant he hadn’t answered. _Gods, that was a hell of a punch_. “I could ask you the same thing. About a different witch.” Lorcan’s glare turned positively lethal. It was a low blow. “Apologies. My head is still ringing.”

A blue wyvern cried sharply as it flew overhead, drawing their attention. Out of his good eye, Gavriel spotted Asterin and Elide in the saddle, heading out on a scouting mission. _Or maybe they just wanted to get off the damned ship_. Pangs of relief and hurt hit him at the same time. His fear of heights had been improving, but it was still a challenge for him each time he was invited into Sylph’s saddle. The hurt was that he was no longer being invited. And unsurprisingly, the relief was quickly forgotten in favor of the hurt.

Lorcan stood and watched the pair disappear into the clouds. Before he walked away, he growled, “I’d apologize but maybe that was just what you needed.”

Gavriel wanted to take back his apology to the bastard. And expound upon Lorcan’s current state of denial and misery. And maybe, for good measure, tell him to fuck off. But instead, he closed his eyes and rested his head back against the side of the ship. He had not yet allowed his magic to do its work, and he marveled at the way his pulse throbbed across the quickly forming bruise. Anything to keep his mind off Asterin.

After a few minutes of wallowing, Gavriel hauled himself up. And promptly decided to take the stopper off his magic when a spear of pain shot through his head. As intrigued as he was by letting himself feel it, he had guard duty soon and didn’t relish the thought of adding a headache to the boredom. So, by the time he ate and changed his clothes, all evidence of Lorcan’s blow had vanished.

Normally, he wouldn’t mind standing guard when there wasn’t much to watch for. As a soldier, he was used to down time in between fighting. But the past couple of weeks his habits had been upended. _No_ , he thought with sudden clarity. _My whole world has been upended_. _And it's not entirely due to Maeve_. He leaned against the railing at the bow of the ship and stared into the gray sky. Somehow, the easy-going Blackbeak witch had insinuated herself into his life. It wasn’t until she’d completely withdrawn from it that he could see just how deeply she’d been rooted. And he still wasn’t sure what he’d done to scare her off.

Gods knew he’d tried to keep his attraction discreet, and not just out of respect for her. In the years since Selene, he’d taken lovers, though none had meant much of anything to him. They’d merely been casual couplings, a brief meeting of bodies in the same place at the same time. But since he’d learned of Aedion, and the memories of Selene had come flooding back... It felt wrong to have feelings for someone else.

And there it was. For it wasn’t just attraction with Asterin. She was, of course, beautiful. Her sunny braids brought out the shards of gold in her otherwise dark eyes. She possessed a smile that demanded one of equal or greater brightness in return. And... he found himself especially hung up on her nose. On anyone else, the slight crookedness might detract from their beauty. But it only added to hers, giving her a wicked little edge that others lacked. She was imperfectly perfect, and she shone because of it. Every one of her movements was a combination of power and grace. It almost made him wish to see her in combat, to witness the hell she could unleash with all that strength.

But, there was more to it, more to her. Before they’d become friends, he’d been stumbling around, lost in warring emotions he couldn’t reconcile: the humiliation of being tossed aside like a dirty piece of cloth, horror at what Maeve had done to Aelin and Rowan, guilt and grief at the look of disgust in Aedion’s eyes as they’d parted. And a nice little topping of self-loathing for ever thinking Maeve had been an honorable path.

Asterin Blackbeak had broken through that bubble of misery with a lot of kind words, an equal amount of smart ass comments, and a laugh that set his blood on fire. Talking to her was freeing. She had no expectations of him and no judgments. Most importantly, he felt as though she understood him. Though, he wasn’t quite sure how she could.

The bloodhound, perhaps. It’s accusations had rattled Manon. Badly. There must have been some truth to them for the Queen to react as she had. He’d spared Asterin the story for that reason, though he had no idea which parts were true and which were lies. The injury Manon had received for saving Dorian made it clear their Matron was a monster. He knew little of the witches of Erilea, but the Ironteeth’s brutality was widely known. Or... more accurately, widely rumored. Manon and her Thirteen were certainly deadly. But not brutal.

Not like Maeve.

Gavriel had never allowed himself to question his allegiance to her until Mistward. He’d never made such an effort to work around the blood oath until then. They’d all done it at some time or other, but always for minor reasons. The outcomes of her orders were never affected, just the means of achieving them. Only Fenrys pushed to the point of outright disobedience, and suffered the near deadly consequences as a result. But there was something about Mistward, something about Rowan’s call for help... Gavriel knew she’d let the place and it’s inhabitants fall. For no other reason than she could. So he and Lorcan had decided to act before she could say no. Looking back, he now realized she must have known they’d do it.

Maeve had been playing them like pieces on a game board since... _Since forever_ , he thought. He’d heard every word she spoke on that beach.

A part of him hoped that she’d enthralled him with her magic in some way. Forced him to see her as a worthy master, like she’d forced Rowan to see Lyria as his mate. _Isn’t that noble_ , he thought with disgust. _To wish for some sort of mental bondage over simply admitting I fucked up_. If only it was a simple fuck up. And not hundreds of years of serving a demon, killing for her, forsaking the love of his life for her, never knowing his son for her...

Gavriel bent over, resting his forehead on his arms, hands drawn into tight fists. “Gods damn her,” he growled. 

He hadn’t been possessed, or had his mind altered, but he had been lied to. Maeve had strung them all along using whatever threats or temptations ensured their devotion. He’d been plied with promises of honor, Rowan with distraction from the loss of his supposed mate. The promised death of his twin was held over Fenrys like a pendulum blade. Lorcan, a bastard in more ways than one, had been manipulated into believing he loved her. Easy to do with someone who believed himself to be of little worth. Vaughn and Connall were both trying to overcome perceived shortcomings by aligning themselves with a powerful queen. She’d had each of their numbers from the start.

The realization didn’t erase what he’d done in her name, what he’d lost in her name. But it made him angry. Which made him perk up at the thought they were on their way to face her. Asterin had pulled him from the depths, kept his head bobbing above the surface. Now, he was staying afloat.

Gavriel stood, taking the salted air deep into his lungs. He’d made a mistake to entrust his honor to her. But, being played for a fool was not the same as being a male of no honor. He made a vow at that moment. From here on out, he’d right as many of his wrongs as he could. At the top of his list? Stop Maeve, by any means possible.

Slyph appeared from out of the clouds, pulling some of the mist with her as she emerged. The joyful display made his chest ache. After the wyvern landed, Gavriel watched Asterin and Elide dismount. She was smiling at the young girl, but her eyes weren’t. They were hooded with sorrow, something he’d noticed in recently when she thought no one was looking. And occasionally, in moments when they were. It must be such a normal expression for her that no one ever questioned it. She paid him no attention, but he got the sense that she knew exactly where he was on the ship. Returning to his diligent watch of the dreary, non-existent sunset, he made another vow. He wasn’t sure how he’d do it, but he’d try to help her as she’d helped him.

 *****

Asterin caught him watching her when they landed, his concern evident even from far away. He’d been looking at her that way a lot lately. Worry and confusion fighting for top spot on his face. Which made her feel like shit. He’d only ever been kind to her, trusting her with his greatest fear. And she repaid him with silence and avoidance.

She’d successfully dodged Gavriel since their last flight a few days ago. But there was something about seeing him standing alone at the bow of the ship when she’d returned with Elide. Something about his solid frame silhouetted against the gloomy sky. She owed him... What? She couldn’t tell him the truth. But she owed him something. Part of the truth at least.

That night, after they’d eaten, Asterin left Elide and Briar in their little shared room and went above deck. He was still on watch and as she approached, she went over what she planned to say. No foolish flirting, no jokes or teasing. Just a simple explanation that they were friends and nothing more. She had no interest in him beyond that.

 _You’re so full of shit_ , Manon’s voice rang through her head. Asterin huffed in annoyance at the intrusion, but kept on walking.

“No stars tonight,” he said with a smile, nodding up to the overcast sky.

Determined to be upfront, she leaned next to him, careful to leave space between them. But gods, that smile disarmed her. With his blonde hair pulled back to reveal a strong jaw and sharp cheekbones, his warm eyes and full lips… He was already handsome. _And that damn smile only makes it worse_ , she thought. Somehow, it managed to simultaneously calm her and stir up emotions she’d forgotten were there. It was easy and coaxing and understanding. She thought suddenly that she could tell him anything. Everything.

She thought, suddenly, that she’d been staring at him for entirely too long.

But instead of telling him there would be no more wyvern rides, no more late night talks like this, she leaned a few inches closer and said, “Guess that means there are no Bloodthirsty Witches out tonight. Lucky for you.”

Gods damn her.

Gavriel grinned and the sight of his Fae canines made something heavy and enormous flip over in her chest. And when it flipped back, heat flooded her body. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly and the corner of his smile twitched. Asterin didn’t move. Except to drop her gaze to those lips, and get stuck there wondering what he might taste like.

Out of nowhere, a white hawk swooped down next to them, and with a flash of light, Rowan stood before them. Judging from his expression, he had news from one of the scouting ships that had just returned to their little fleet. But he took one look at them – how close they were to each other, the pissy glare Gavriel wore, the flush of Asterin’s skin – then turned swiftly around and went below deck without a word.

Asterin burst out laughing, equal parts upset and glad for the interruption. A moment later, Gavriel chuckled. Which meant he was smiling again. She sighed and looked out over the dark water, trying to build herself back up to say what she’d come there to say. But before she could speak, he did.

“Whatever I did, up there,” he nodded again to the sky, “I’m sorry. If I said something to offend you, please tell me what it was so I never say it again.” He reached for her hand but she took an uncertain step back. “I... You’re my friend, Asterin. Knowing I upset you...” He dropped his head.

Friends. That’s what she’d planned to tell him. But, the way they’d just been looking at each other was a lot more than friendship. He wasn’t lying, but she knew he wouldn’t object to... more. The question was, what exactly did she want? Their circumstances made a fling rather difficult as they were stuck on a ship in the middle of the ocean. How would he react when she tired of him?

 _When?! You keep telling yourself that_. Manon’s voice was so clear in her mind she almost turned to see if she had somehow joined them on the ship.

“You know Aedion is my son,” Gavriel said, interrupting her descent into madness. Asterin nodded hesitantly, wondering where this change in conversation was going. “Did you know I only just found out about him?”

“No,” she said, looking up to find the clouds had broken, just enough to glimpse the moon. In the distance, stars were becoming visible where the cloud bank ended. The Hunter’s arm had just risen above the horizon.

He followed her gaze. “His mother, Selene, never told me she was pregnant. She never told me how terrified she was that Maeve would find our child. Instead, she told me to leave. Told me she didn’t want to be with me anymore. I loved her and didn’t want to go. But…” Gavriel gave a little laugh that was anything but amused. “I did what she wanted. I left and never once went back.”

Asterin was staring at him now instead of the sky. The pain and grief – the guilt - on his face was so familiar to her, like looking into a mirror. A perfect reflection she fought to hide every day. “But you wanted to,” she whispered.

He turned and looked down at her, his eyes shining in the rising moonlight. “Every single day. But, even if I couldn’t say it out loud, even if I couldn’t admit it to anyone at that time, I knew the monster I’d sworn a blood oath to would kill Selene if she was discovered. So I stayed away. I regret it. I regret not knowing Aedion sooner, not being a part of his life. I regret that she was shunned by her family because of our child. But…” He bowed his head and sighed. Such a heavy, cleansing breath. Also familiar to her. “I think maybe it was for the best. If Maeve had found them…”

So familiar. “She would have used them. Or killed them outright. But she would have kept you alive. To make you watch. And suffer.” His expression became wary. Asterin realized her iron nails had slid free as she’d growled out those last words.

“You speak as if from experience,” he said carefully. Gavriel’s hand moved towards her face but he let it fall, no doubt remembering her reluctance to let him touch her moments earlier.

She felt the tear then, as it rolled slowly over her cheek and dripped off her chin. With a quick shrug of her shoulder, she wiped it from her face. “Your bitch of a Queen sounds like my bitch of a Matron.”

His eyes took on that gentle quality again, reading more into her words than she’d admitted. But there was no pity, only understanding. Familiarity. His mouth curved into a sweet smile. Asterin blinked, and found herself saying, “His name was Ethan.”

“You don’t have to,” he said, resting a hand on hers. “That’s not why I told you about her. I just... You’re easy to talk to.”

She breathed a shallow laugh, trying to ignore the shiver she felt from his touch. “It’s ok. I want to. You’re pretty easy too.” He smiled, just as she’d wanted him to.

And that night, as the clouds vanished to let the moon and stars shine overhead, he told her about his lost love, and she told him about hers. How those months with him had been the happiest of her life. How she’d secretly returned to check on him. How the last time, she’d found his cabin empty and in disrepair. How she’d never mentioned him to anyone for fear the Matron would kill him to punish her. But he understood, as he’d gone through his own version of that story.

He told her about the guilt he felt for serving Maeve, as well as the conflicting sense of loss from the severed blood oath. He was ashamed to admit to the latter, ashamed that he had placed so much of himself in the hands of a monster. Ashamed that he still felt unworthy. But she understood it, as she’d watched Manon go through a version of that story.

She told him about the Matron, and how she had ruled by violence and threats. How she had often been the subject of those threats as a means of controlling Manon. How that made her dig her heels in further, fighting to protect the spark within Manon that so terrified the Matron. The spark that she and the rest of the Thirteen believed would one day lead them home.

He told her about Maeve’s methods of control and punishment. The whippings she ordered them to administer to each other. Their inability to do anything but follow her orders. He told her about Mistward, and how saving those demi-fae had been the first good thing he’d done in a long time.

They exchanged stories of battles and escapes. She told him about her first flight on a broom, which made him wince. He told her about how it felt to shift into an animal, which made her green with envy.

The one thing Asterin did not tell him about was her witchling. That wound was still too raw, too open. Too personal. It had been hard enough to share with Manon, who was a sister to her. It would be a long while before she could share that with anyone else. She got the sense that he knew she was leaving something important out, but he never pushed.

When Lorcan arrived to take over sentry duty, they were both shocked to remember Gavriel had been on watch this whole time. Asterin laughed as his cheeks reddened, winning her a shitty look from Lorcan. In the spirit of maintaining peace on a ship in the middle of the ocean, she chose to ignore it. Gavriel gestured for the oversized ass to “go sentry somewhere else”, and surprisingly, he did.

“So,” she drawled, pointing to a group of stars high above. “What do old Fae warriors call that one?” Gavriel laughed. Which meant he smiled. Which meant she was in a shitload of trouble.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Several hours of fitful rest later, Asterin checked and double checked her weapons. Catching Nesryn examining the bow slung across her back, Asterin let her have a try drawing the string. While the others were preparing their own weapons, they exchanged archery tricks and preferences, with Nesryn occasionally translating to Sarnai, who watched intently. Asterin smiled as the young girl, and then Borte, demonstrated different grips used to overcome high winds. Some were familiar, but Asterin was surprised to learn a couple of new ones. She wished they could linger, but too quickly, Manon called for them to form a circle.

The groans were silenced when Jessa handed out a few leaves to each of them, explaining that the herbs probably wouldn’t prevent dizziness, but they should help settle their stomachs. Aneira gave her fellow Crochan an impressive glare, asking why she hadn’t passed the remedy out the first time. Jessa, offering a hellish look in return, said, “It looked like we were all about to dance. How was I to know what was coming?”

Within minutes, they were on a bluff just outside of Rifthold, overlooking the massive war camp that stretched around the wall. Campfires dotted the miles and miles of darkness, which was filled with unseen soldiers. Nesryn swore at the size of it, her eyes wide in horror. Dorian looked as if he might be sick. Until his features turned cold and angry. He stepped closer to his Captain, put an arm around her shoulder, and said something that only she could hear. Nesryn’s jaw clenched and she nodded. This was their city, and Asterin suddenly felt the need to apologize for what the witches had done to it, who they’d given it to. She opened her mouth but stopped when Manon caught her eye and shook her head. Shame and regret passed sharply between them, but her cousin was right. This wasn’t the time or place to unload their guilt. She’d just have to take it out on whatever filthy valg they’d encounter.

Only one of the towers was positioned within Rifthold, near the harbor to defend against a naval attack. It also served to keep the city, and its enslaved inhabitants, under constant threat. The other two were stationed at the far edges of the camps, north and south of the city.

They broke into three groups. Manon would winnow Dorian, Asterin, Nesryn, and Lyra into the city to target the tower under the heaviest guard. The others would rely upon Crochan shielding spells to hide their approach to the outer towers. Owing to the power of the mirrors, the negation spell was not a quick and easy one. It would take close to an hour to complete, at which point, they would rendezvous back on this hill where they’d separated. The timing had to be precise so that Erawan’s forces weren’t alerted to their presence before they could strike.

And now, here they were. The five of them knee deep in shit within the Rifthold sewers.

The location was Nesryn’s idea, who’d claimed it was the closest they could get to the harbor without being seen. “This is pleasant,” Asterin said, thankful Jessa’s herbs had taken care of the worst of her winnowing sickness. This smell was more than enough to make her ill. Lyra choked back a gag, her eyes watering.

“Help me win back my city and it’ll be the first thing I clean up,” Dorian said, passing out handkerchiefs to wrap around their faces.

“Deal.” With a wink, she added, “Your Majesty,” coaxing a laugh from the King. Manon rolled her eyes, palmed two daggers, and started down a tunnel behind Nesryn.

Nesryn had spent enough nights in these sewers fighting valg that she knew her way around. But with the city under Erawan’s control, Asterin didn’t think they’d run into the enemy here. And she was right. Nothing but smells foul enough to leave a bad taste in her mouth, rats the size of Sylph’s tail spikes, and the sounds of skittering insects and creatures that raised the hair on the back of her neck. Asterin could take almost anything except swarming insects. The thought alone was enough to make her shudder.

After a few turns, they came to a wide opening that emptied sewage into the bay. Peering around the edge, they saw the tower in the distance, standing next to the docks with the largest berths. Berths holding some of Adarlan’s finest warships. The entire harbor front was lined with warehouses, which Nesryn described as a labyrinth of buildings. Ships and boats of all sizes were moored in the water, but it was quiet at this time of night. Except for the forty or fifty soldiers patrolling the end of the waterfront with the tower.

Lyra swore, then ducked back inside the tunnel. “Were we expecting so many?” The Blueblood sounded out of breath. From either the winnowing or the odor, Asterin couldn’t tell. She leaned against the wall and rubbed her eyes.

Dorian and Nesryn dropped back with Lyra, leaving Asterin with Manon, who hadn’t answered the witch’s question. They scanned the harbor, taking in the visible soldiers, noting where others were likely hiding, planning escape routes…

“What do you think?” Manon asked.

Asterin shrugged. “We’ve managed worse. Without magic. If the shield Dorian learned from that Crochan elder can keep us hidden and silent, I don’t see much of a problem. Leave Nesryn and Lyra back to cover us and we’ll-”

A sudden splash sounded from behind and they whirled around to find Dorian grabbing Lyra and pulling her from the mucky water.

“Damn it...” He turned to them, struggling to hold onto her. “I think she’s having a seizure.”

In an instant, Asterin had a hold of the witch’s legs, Manon held her arms, and Dorian cradled her head, all of them trying to keep her from hurting herself. Nesryn had her bow loaded and stood guard at the tunnel opening, worriedly looking back at them every few seconds.

“Has this happened to her before?” Asterin asked.

“No idea,” Manon replied, forcing an arm down that had slipped from her grasp. She looked to Dorian then, the two of them sharing some silent conversation.

Too on edge to hide her annoyance, Asterin growled, “What is it? Just say it!”

Manon opened her mouth, but before she could explain, Lyra began mumbling. The words were incoherent at first, but they soon realized she was repeating them. After a few repetitions, it became clearer and they were able to sort out what she said. Lyra continued for another minute then fell silent and still.

They knew now what had happened to the Blueblood witch. She’d had a vision. And as creepy as the whole thing had been, Asterin had to bite back a laugh. She’d always assumed Blueblood visions were like intricate puzzles that needed to be solved, or codes to be deciphered. Not something as obvious as this.

_Crochan Queen hear our plea  
_

_Silba’s light holds the key  
_

_Reflected bright, the valg shall flee  
_

_And those ringed may yet be freed_

The four of them stared down at Lyra, who looked peaceful, as if she was simply taking a nap. No one spoke.

Until finally, Asterin sighed. “I guess it’s fitting that we’re in a damned sewer. All of our plans just turned to shit.”

 

 

To be continued...


	29. Rekindled 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part three of Asterin's story. There will be one more chapter.

Asterin gently propped Lyra against the door frame of a warehouse. By some luck of the Three-Faced Goddess - or perhaps the stench of the nearby sewer - this part of the harbor was quiet and empty of soldiers. The Blueblood seer was conscious, but groggy and weak after her vision, unable to provide any help in what was to come.“Manon will be back to get you when we leave,” she whispered, making sure the young witch was out of sight and as comfortable as possible. Lyra only nodded, not bothering to point out how unlikely it was that any of them would actually make it out of here.

Not now that they had to steal the damn mirrors to use against the valg, just like Aedion had wanted. But Aelin would not be the one to wield them. That task would fall to Yrene Westfall and the healers from the Torre Cesme. It would be their only chance of saving the humans Erawan had collared and ringed for possession by his valg.

She caught sight of Nesryn scaling the side of the warehouse, moving silently into position to provide cover for them. And judging by the number of soldiers guarding the witch mirror tower, her arrows might be flying soon. The young Captain had accepted her full quiver without argument and Asterin was glad they were in good hands.

With the change of plans, they had little hope of getting the mirrors out without engaging the guards. Which left her and Manon to distract and eliminate as many as possible while Dorian handled the mirrors. His magic was their only means of removing them and getting them back to this end of the dock. An empty schooner moored near the sewer outfall was the best transport they could find at the last minute, the mirrors being too large for winnowing. It would mean they’d miss the rendezvous. But they had to trust the others would make it back and continue on to the Terrasen sea cave by broom.

Having all of this magic seemed a waste to Asterin. In an instant, Manon could have wiped the harbor clean of their enemies, clearing the way for the easy theft of the mirrors and an easier escape. But where Dorian’s magic could be subtle and invisible, Manon’s was like a volcano erupting. Or so she’d been told by some of the Thirteen who’d witnessed her yielding in the battle against the Yellowlegs. Erawan would be alerted to their presence and intent, and that would jeopardize their friends tasked with eliminating the mirrors in the two towers outside the city walls.

So they’d have to do an old fashioned smash and grab. Without the smash. Or, at least, a quiet smash.

As she scanned the deserted waterfront between them and the tower, she knew her grin must look mad, but she had no control over it. Manon and Dorian crouched next to her. “Ready?”

To Asterin’s glee, Manon returned the fiendish smile, nodded and took their hands. With no warning, they were flung through darkness only to appear next to the tower seconds later, shielded and cloaked in every way by Dorian’s magic.

Before Asterin’s head could stop spinning, Manon had her daggers in hand and Dorian ducked through an opening to examine the inside of the tower. They had little information about how the things were constructed, so if he encountered any obstacles to the mirrors, magical or otherwise... She really didn’t want to think about it. There were plenty of demon-infested men mere feet away who could occupy her attention. As Dorian crawled through rough, wooden supports and gestured to a ladder, she and Manon scanned the area. They’d be happy to stay silent and hidden for as long as possible.

They both stopped breathing as a guard walked past them in his loop around the base of the tower. They were completely hidden by the Crochan technique Dorian was using, but it was still disconcerting to look into the enemy’s eye for a split second and not be seen or heard. The demon men were clustered around the tower but only a few made the effort to actually patrol around its base. The indifference spoke to the downside of an army created instead of gathered. The valg may be evil and capable fighters, but ultimately, the foot soldiers had no skin in the game. As opposed to say, the witches, Fae, and humans allied against them. It heartened Asterin and she thanked the Goddess for maybe the hundredth time that they were now fighting for the right side. 

After some silent communication through the bond with Dorian, Manon gave a nod and they slipped inside. Through their own series of hand gestures, unnecessary but too familiar to abandon, Asterin learned there were twenty small mirrors spiraling up within the structure, while the four largest were affixed to the outside. She cringed as the first small mirror began a ghostly descent, but it held steady in the air until Manon grabbed it and placed it gingerly on the ground. The next one was already nearing them, with more floating down behind it.

Asterin stood as guard while Manon arranged them so the mirrored sides faced each other. The last thing they needed was for an errant ray of light to reflect off the mirrors and alert the enemy to their presence. More quickly than Asterin had expected, all of the interior mirrors were down and stacked into small piles next to them. They looked too big to fit between the beams, and for a few moments, she and Manon just looked at each other, not sure what to do.

She had to admit she was pretty damn impressed with Dorian’s magic. Pointing up to where he was descending and then wiggling her fingers, she nodded in approval to Manon. And received quite a self-satisfied smile in reply. Asterin quirked an eyebrow in disbelief. “As the one who encouraged all this, you don’t get to give me the ‘I told you so’ look,“ she whispered faintly. Manon conceded with a dip of her head, though her smile didn’t really fade. 

Dorian stepped down from the ladder, utterly calm. They waited for a soldier to pass outside, then he began moving them, two at a time, through slots in the framing. Asterin glanced at Manon, who was giving her that smug look again, and huffed a silent laugh. He made quick work of the smaller mirrors, sending them down the entire length of the waterfront to the waiting schooner. When it was done, they all looked up and wondered the same thing. How the hell would they get the outer mirrors down without alerting the soldiers?

Manon’s eyes grew wide. With a hand to her chest, she whispered, “Diversion. You guard him,” she pointed to Asterin, then to Dorian, “and you get them to the ship. I’ll met you there.” Before either could object, Manon winnowed away.

 

* * *

 

Nesryn spun, arrow ready to fly as Manon crouched on the roof behind her. She realized, almost too late, that suddenly appearing out of thin air like that probably hadn’t been a good idea.

“Sorry,” Manon said, her voice barely audible. “I need your help.” Nesryn nodded. Manon took her hand and the next minute, they were in the middle of the maze of storage warehouses that bordered the harbor.

“We need to set one on fire,” Manon said. “To get the soldiers away from the tower. Nothing too big though. We don’t need more to arrive.”

Staying in shadow, they walked along the nearest building to find the doors locked with a heavy chain. On the outside. They shared a confused look and Nesryn leaned against the door to listen. Manon mimicked her and their eyes met at the sound of muffled voices. There were no windows to look through, but reason told them it was unlikely that Erawan was keeping his own forces locked up in a warehouse.

Nesryn’s eyes grew wide and her face paled. _Civilian slaves?_ she mouthed.

Manon nodded, immediately forgetting the fiery diversion. Wind Cleaver was out and raised above her head when Nesryn blocked her arm.

“What will we do with them? They’ll just be killed if we free them with nowhere to go.”

She was right. “I can winnow them out of the city,” Manon whispered. _As long as there aren’t too many_ , she thought but didn’t say. The doubtful look on Nesryn’s face told her she’d thought the same thing.

It took two swings of her sword to break the chains. As the doors slowly swung open, Manon and Nesryn both gasped at the sight before them. Lit only by a handful of torches, the space was filled with people arranged into little groups. While most had stood at the opening of the doors, many who appeared to be too old or sick remained flat on the ground. The air was thick with the smell of too many bodies confined in too small a space. The horrible fear pouring from them... Manon almost choked on it. The warehouse was filled with men, women, and children. And all of them were staring at her.

“What’s the most you’ve winnowed?” Nesryn asked.

Manon didn’t answer. Nesryn knew from their practice attempts that the group on this mission had been the largest. “I’ll do ten or fifteen at a time,” she said. “But I think you’re going to have to get them to agree first.” Several men had moved to stand protectively in front of their families. They were all watching her as if Nesryn didn’t exist. “I don’t think they’ll trust me.”

Nesryn had already taken the measure of the crowd, so she walked forward with an air of command and introduced herself as Captain of the Royal Guard. When no one moved, she asked if there was someone in charge to whom she could talk. An elderly woman called back into the milling crowd but there was someone already making his way through.

"Captain?”

“Theo?” Nesryn asked, relief washing over her at the familiar face. “Listen. We must be quick. How many are here?”

He glanced warily at Manon but Nesryn snapped her fingers to get his attention and said, “She is an ally of King Dorian Havilliard. He is alive and gathering forces to attack Erawan. How many, Theo?”

He stood a bit straighter and said, “There are about 100 in this building.”

“ _This_ building?” Manon asked.

He kept his focus on Nesryn as he said, “They keep us in three warehouses here. But there are many more housed throughout the city.”

Nesryn looked at Manon, despair creeping over her face. Both knew they’d be lucky to get the people in this single building out. There was no way they could further infiltrate the city and free more, even if her magic could withstand the strain.

“Have someone split everyone into groups of fifteen,” Manon ordered, ignoring Nesryn’s uncertain intake of breath. The man looked to Nesryn, who nodded, then he relayed the order to a woman standing nearby. “Show us the other two buildings,” Manon said.

He immediately led them back outside and pointed to two nearby warehouses, both chained as this one had been. Before opening them, Manon asked, “I don’t know Adarlan as well as you two. Is there somewhere not occupied by Erawan’s forces where I can take them?”

Theo looked between them in confusion and Nesryn said, “I don’t think there’s any place close by. Can you get them back to the cave?”

Manon stared at the man. Nesryn’s authority had seemingly dissolved his discomfort over her being a witch. “I’ll try. I don’t know how many groups I can take that far.”

“What are you-” Theo started to ask.

“Are there more guards with you? Anyone who can fight? Any who know how to sail?” Nesryn interrupted.

“Yes,” he said. “A lot of weak and injured though. And we don’t have any weapons.”

Manon and Nesryn shared a look. Then Manon said, “Separate out those able to fight and handle a ship into one group. Get the rest gathered into one building.” She turned and made quick work of both sets of chains. “Remember. The others in groups of fifteen,” she called out, as Theo ran into one of the newly opened warehouses.

“I’ll take as many as I can manage. Whoever is left can join us on the boat,” she said. Nesryn nodded and began to walk away. But Manon caught her arm. “If there was a way to free the rest, I would do it.”

Nesryn gave her a sad smile. “I know Manon. Thank you for this.” Then she turned away and ran back to the first warehouse.

Coughing rang out behind her and she turned to find a large number of people exiting a building. Theo took off past them into the last slave warehouse, leaving them to cough and shiver and stare at her. _Shit_ , she thought, wishing Nesryn had stayed. These people were broken and terrified. Mostly from what the witches had done to their city. There was no way they’d trust her. She scanned their faces, feeling a peculiar, little stab from each look of fear and hatred. Each set of eyes that narrowed. Each that widened. Each that darted around for escape.

There was one face that surprised her. A little girl looked out from behind her mother’s skirts. Her eyes were wide, but not in terror. She was curious. And the more she looked at Manon with those dark, questioning eyes, the more Manon became intrigued. Unable to tell if the girl’s hair was brown from dirt or it’s natural color, Manon inwardly cringed as she examined the rest of her - torn, dingy clothing, no shoes, skin and bones.

Manon smiled at her, ignoring the mother’s attempts to hide her daughter. “I’m here with King Dorian,” she said softly. Somehow, the girl’s eyes got bigger. As did Manon’s smile. “And Captain Faliq from the Royal Guard. We’re going to get you out of here.”

“How?” she asked in a louder voice than Manon expected. The adults and other children shuffled around her, whispering and spreading word back into the crowd.

 _Oh_ , she realized, wondering how much to tell them. She didn’t want to make them panic by blurting out _Magic!_ And she also didn’t want to bring up the after-effects of winnowing. Some sick, pissed off humans in exchange for freedom seemed a small price, and one she was willing to pay. Stepping forward, but not too close, she went down on a knee in front of the girl. “What’s your name?”

Before her mother could stop her, she said, “Poppy.”

Manon smiled warmly. “Like the flower?” Poppy nodded. “That’s one of my favorites. My wyvern loves wildflowers. In fact, he loves nothing more than to lay in the sun surrounded by flowers. Have you ever flown before?” It seemed a risky question considering recent events, and one she already knew the answer to. But this small girl was brave.

The girl gasped. “No!” All fear forgotten, her mother stared daggers at Manon.

 _So that’s where she gets it_ , Manon thought. With a breathy laugh, she said, “Well, I won’t be flying you out exactly, but it will be close. Do you want to try?”

Now, Poppy looked up to her mother for permission. The woman clearly didn’t know how to respond, struggling to decide if Manon was playing with them or being truthful.

She stood. “It’s the fastest way,” Manon said apologetically. “But you will all be safe. I promise.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth she regretted them. How could she promise them that? She didn’t even know how many she could take, let alone where they’d end up. But she did know she would do everything she could to help them. She owed them that.

“Where are you taking us?” Poppy’s mother asked.

The question spoke of acceptance, and Manon fought the urge to thank the woman for it. “To Terrasen. We have forces there. From all over Erilea, Wendlyn, and the Southern Continent.” She paused then added, “And the Wastes. Not all of the Ironteeth are with Erawan. I have a witch army who flies with your King.”

Gasps and murmurs spread through the crowd, which had grown with the addition of the people from the last warehouse. Manon caught Poppy admiring Wind Cleaver. Her mother noticed too. With a tight smile, she asked, “So we will be able to fight? Once we get there? Anyone who is willing?”

Now Manon was admiring this woman, who was braver than she first appeared. And who had instilled that same courage in her daughter. “Yes.”

Voices rumbled again, this time filled with fiery determination.

Theo arrived and began leading everyone back to the first building were Nesryn was waiting. As the small, fierce girl looked back to her as she was led away. Manon prayed to the Three-Faced Goddess, and every other deity she knew of, that she’d be able to keep her promise.

 

* * *

 

Asterin was past losing her patience and quickly moving into pissed off territory. Manon had been gone for over twenty minutes and there had been nothing to draw the guards away from the tower. Dorian, able to sense that she was alive through their bond, was still as a statue as she paced around him. He’d reached out to Manon but hadn’t received a reply. Neither knew what was going on and they were running out of time. Through the tower’s frame, she glimpsed one of the warships docked nearby and made a decision.

“You can shield me from a distance right?” she asked, her voice no more than a whisper.

Dorian nodded slowly, his brows drawn together in confusion. _"_ Where are you going?” _  
_

She pointed to the ship, then unclipped a pouch from her belt and dangled it in his face. Making sure there were no guards close, she winked at him and slipped out of the tower. His muffled curse brought a smile to her face.

A small group of demon soldiers stood off to the side of the dock leading out to the ship’s ramp. Asterin paused, then tossed a pebble into some barrels sitting nearby. They all turned and she passed by them, stepping lightly so the dock wouldn’t creak and give her away. Dorian’s magic made her invisible, but there were plenty of ways her movements could reverberate and make her presence known.

She didn’t know what she’d do if the ship was fully manned, but she was hoping she wouldn’t have to actually get on board. Each team had brought weapons provided by Sartaq via his sister. Not firelances, but they operated on a similar principle, with a slightly different execution. Fire orbs were palm-sized, powder-filled metal balls. A wick poked out of one side, causing one hell of an impressive explosion when lit.

Asterin was an ace at archery and almost as good as the Demon Twins when it came to a thrown dagger. She’d hoped to come across a few open portholes, thinking a blast from within would do more damage. But they were all sealed along the first third of the ship, and she wasn’t going to keep looking. She crouched, setting the four orbs in a row at her feet. Luckily, there was no wind as she struck her flint. She knew this wasn’t the safest way to use these things, but she didn’t have the time to care. The sparks caught on all four of the wicks and in quick succession, she tossed them up onto the deck, spreading them out along the length of the warship.

At the sound of shouted alarms, she turned to dive off the dock, but the first one must have exploded on impact. A hot blast of air threw her face first into the water before a wall of flames followed. Foggy-headed from the force of smacking the water, she stayed submerged and pushed herself back along the dock supports, watching the fire overhead. She felt the other explosions as underwater waves hurled debris in all directions and realized there must have been firelances or other explosives on the ship. One fire orb probably would have been enough, she thought angrily as she broke the surface a fair distance from the burning ship.

Asterin made her way along the wharf, hiding in the darkness and swimming from pile to pile away from the chaos. She hoped Dorian was already moving the mirrors and getting his ass to the boat. With him shielded, she had no way to check on him and she wasn’t going to risk returning to the tower. He’d have no problem getting to the other end of the waterfront, and the others would be well positioned to make it to the schooner since all the soldiers were busy dealing with this mess.

When she reached the schooner, she swam to the side opposite the fire and climbed a rope onto the deck. The mirrors, including the four largest, were arranged in neat, low rows. Wood creaked behind her and she spun, a dagger at the ready.

“It’s me,” Dorian said, before dropping his shield.

Asterin exhaled loudly and returned the dagger to its sheath. Looking down at the mirrors, she said, “Ok, you’re good.”

Dorian grinned. “You too,” he said, turning towards the blazing ship. Soldiers were scrambling all over that end of the harbor. “Although, I think the ends of your braids got a little singed.” 

“Shit,” she muttered, pulling her hair around to find some frayed edges sticking out from the plaits. Twisting to look down her back, she saw that her shirt was blackened from the explosion. “I guess we know that Crochan shield doesn’t work against fire.”

Dorian wasn’t paying attention as he looked around the otherwise empty deck of their ship. “No one else is here yet.”

Asterin said, “Surely she heard the explosion. They’re probably on their way. Can you reach her?”

He shook his head and turned in a circle, worry starting to break through his calm demeanor.

“Is she out of range or something? Preventing you from talking to her?” Asterin didn’t know how this aspect of the mating bond worked. “Is she hurt? You can tell right?”

Instinctively, they both ducked as another blast radiated from the warship. The glow from the flames illuminated most of the harbor. Dorian stayed down, hiding behind the side of the ship and Asterin crawled over to join him, each of them shifting their attention between the warship and the direction from which they expected the others.

“I’d be able to feel it. At least,” he turned back to the warehouses lining the dock, “if she was hurt badly. I’ve tried speaking through the bond but I’m not getting anything back. One of the others could be in trouble and we wouldn’t know.”

 _Shit_. She didn’t know how long they could wait. Though, there was no question that’s what they’d do.

 

* * *

 

Manon doubled over, almost going to her knees. Most of the people in the group she’d just winnowed were doing the same, except several were retching loudly. She wasn’t sick. She was just too weak to stand upright. And had no idea how much more she could endure. Those made sick from the travel were being helped by the first Adarlanians she’d transported. The injured and elderly were also being attended to, while some older children had been sent to find water.

The cave proved to be too far. Thank the Goddess it was night and she’d landed on a deserted cliff overlooking the sea and bordering a dense forest. And thank the Goddess someone in the group recognized their location - north of Meah and close to the Terrasen border. That old woman, Philippa, had essentially taken charge as Manon brought more and more to the site. She’d told Manon they’d wait in the forest through the coming day before eventually heading north. Of course, crossing the border didn’t mean they’d be out of danger. But they were all relieved to be free of the hellish warehouses and the valg.

She’d managed to transport most of the people, though she’d lost count of the number of trips. More than ten. Maybe fourteen? Fifteen? All she knew was that this last had almost been one too many. 

Just as she’d been ready to winnow, a blast to rival Kaltain’s destruction of Morath sounded from the direction of the water. Nesryn, cool-headed as always, had immediately sent Theo and two others to see what was happening, then assigned more people as look-outs. Manon’s stomach had flipped at the possibility that something happened to Dorian and Asterin. But she didn’t sense anything wrong in the cariad bond. Or in her bond with Asterin. When the men reported back that a warship, not the mirror tower, was on fire and still exploding, Nesryn had wanted her to stay. But there were several injured yet to take and she wasn’t going to leave them here and risk trying to get them to their ship. “I can take two more groups”, she’d told Nesryn. “Get Lyra and the others ready to go to the schooner.”

And now, she wasn’t sure if she had enough magic to get back.

As she caught her breath, Manon glanced over to where Poppy sat with her mother. The little girl had held up well but her mother still looked a bit green. Poppy had watched Manon’s every move each time she appeared.

“Is your magic better than flying on a wyvern?” she asked.

Giving up the pretense of strength, Manon sighed and sat back in the tall grass, grateful for the distraction and the chance to rest. “It’s faster. That’s the only advantage. That and situations like this. But I don’t know what I’d do without my wyvern.”

Poppy was quiet for a moment before asking, “Do you really have iron teeth?”

Manon looked at the girl’s mother. The woman’s head rested heavily on her bent knees and she shrugged her shoulders as if to say _Go ahead_. With a snap of her jaw, iron teeth slid out and she grinned. Not maliciously, if that was possible with knife-sharp teeth, but so Poppy could see them. The girl’s mouth fell open and she ran over to sit in front of her. “I have these too,” Manon said, flicking her wrists to let her nails pop out.

Utterly captivated, the girl didn’t know where to look, at Manon’s teeth or hands. Manon thought she was about to reach out and touch the fingernails when Poppy asked, “Do you use them a lot?” 

_Not like I used to_ , Manon thought. “Only when I have to,” she said.

“Poppy? Come on, let’s move into the woods with the others,” her mother called. The girl frowned but stood and ran back quickly to help the woman rise. Before they turned to leave, the woman said, “Thank you.”

The words, unexpected and unnecessary, struck Manon in her core. _Where my dead, shriveled heart lay_... she thought out of nowhere. It was something she would have said only months ago. So much had changed. And so much for the better. “What’s your name?”

“Celie Anders.” She glanced at her daughter. “My husband was taken by Erawan’s army when they invaded. We owned a flower shop, but he had a little magic…” She didn’t finish, pulling Poppy closer against her side.

Manon hesitated, not sure if she should tell the woman what they were really doing in Rifthold, what it could mean for her husband. If he was still alive. And then if he survived long enough. “There are forces in Suria and Orynth. Mine are in Perranth. Maybe we’ll see each other soon, Celie.” Manon dipped her head and touched her fingers to her temple.

The woman had no way of knowing what the gesture meant, but she smiled and said, “I have family in Perranth.” Poppy grinned and waved goodbye as they turned and walked into the forest.

Philippa was watching her from a distance. With more effort than expected, Manon stood and walked slowly over to the woman. “I won’t be able to bring anymore. We’ll take the rest with us on the ship we’ve secured. I’ll try to find you as soon as my magic is restored. But in the meantime, stay hidden and make your way north.”

She nodded then asked, “Back in Rifthold, you said the King is with you? He is alive and well?”

“Yes, he’s safe.” Saying it made her realize she actually didn’t know if that was true, and she ached to get back to him. The relief that flooded Philippa’s face made her ask, “You know him?”

“Since he was born,” she said, a tear about to fall down her hollow cheek. “I was a servant in the castle.”

Gods. Manon felt dizzy, wondering how many more times she could be shocked tonight.

“I helped look after him as a boy, and more recently. Until the witches…” She stopped herself, remembering to whom she now spoke. But she wiped her eyes and stood a little straighter. “Thank you, Lady. For all you’ve done. Please tell him… Tell him I am relieved to know he is safe.”

Again, she wasn’t sure how much to say. And again, she opted to forego the details. “I will, Philippa. I’m certain he will be happy to know you are safe as well. If I’m not able to get back to you, head to Perranth. Chaol Westfall is there along with some others who escaped from Adarlan.”

Philippa took Manon’s hands in hers and held them tightly as more tears appeared. “Thank you.”

“I wish I could have done more,” she said, marveling at the strength in the hands wrapped around her own. “Be careful. I will find you as soon as I can.” Philippa gave one last squeeze before dropping her grasp. Manon stepped back, willing herself to keep a straight face. A moment later, she vanished.

The black tunnel of wind in which she traveled was noticeably slower and Manon found herself having to land before her planned destination. She had no idea where she was, but she took cover in a copse of trees, Wind Cleaver at the ready. All was quiet except for the cries of a young owl and the prey scurrying from its hunting parents. She needed to rest before trying to winnow again, but she had to get back before things turned worse. Though, she didn’t know how that was possible. Their mission had gone from a simple plan of magic spells, to saving not only the mirrors, but a few hundred humans enslaved by Erawan. And Dorian and Asterin weren’t even aware of that last part. Not to mention that blast had to have drawn loads of unwanted attention to the harbor.

Manon stood on shaky legs, willing every ounce of magic left in her imaginary cauldron to bubble to the surface. She thought of Dorian, and Asterin, and the others, hoping it might help her focus and get to Rifthold in one final trip. It took all of her concentration, but a few minutes later, she disappeared.

She landed hard, falling into the side of a building with a groan then sliding down onto her ass. Nesryn came running from around a corner.

“You’re done,” she said quietly. “You’ve gotten all the weakest ones out. That’s enough.” Although she agreed with her, Manon managed the briefest of glares as she looked up from where she now knelt on the ground. “I don’t care if you’re pissed at me,” Nesryn continued. “That’s fine. If it means you’re alive.”

Manon laughed. “If one of my Thirteen spoke to me that way…” But she was too weak to finish.

Nesryn just smiled at her. “You’ll have to make me an honorary member then if you want to reprimand me.”

“Maybe I will,” Manon replied, to Nesryn’s obvious delight. “But right now, let’s get out of here.”

She helped Manon stand and they walked slowly around the corner to where the remaining humans waited – Theo and about forty strong looking men and women. No weapons. She hoped the valg were too busy with the fire to get in their way. And she prayed no more showed up.

At the thought, Manon asked, “What’s happening with the fire?” She noticed Lyra already there and was glad to see her walking. Though she looked better than the last time Manon had seen her, she didn’t seem like she’d be of much use if they needed to fight their way out of here.

“Still burning. And attracting a lot of attention,” a woman replied. “We’ve scouted out the most direct route to your ship. We should get going.”

“Lead the way,” Manon said.

 

* * *

 

“There!” Dorian hissed. “I see Nesryn. And… What the…?”

Asterin turned away from the distant flames to where Dorian was pointing. Nesryn was crouched between two low warehouses, a small crowd of figures behind her. No sign of Manon.

“Who is with her?” Asterin asked. Dorian sighed impatiently and gave her a withering look, his earlier calm eaten away from their anxious waiting. “Ok, ok. You don’t know.”

Manon finally came into view, leaning on a large man. Dorian was still for several moments and Asterin remembered their bond. As Nesryn stepped out into the wide open expanse between the buildings and their ship, Dorian spoke quietly. “I’m shielding her.” Asterin kept her daggers ready and watched the young woman move fast on silent feet. “They found people being held as slaves. Manon winnowed as many as she could out of the city. She didn’t say how far or how many, but she’s drained.”

Asterin released her held breath at the news. Nesryn made her way on board and handed over the arrows Asterin had lent her. _Gods that felt like hours ago_ , Asterin thought, joining Nesryn at the bow of the ship. Both had their strings loaded, arrows aimed in the direction of the burning ship in case any soldiers decided to come their way. Dorian shielded the group as they began the dash to the schooner.

They were halfway to the start of the dock when a shout echoed from within the narrow alleys between the warehouses. A soldier came running out into the open, sword raised. Nesryn’s arrow went right through his windpipe, cutting off his alarm call, but not taking him down. Asterin aimed and released. Two heavy shafts sliced through his neck on either side of Nesryn’s shot, and the thing’s head peeled away and thudded on the ground. With the fire still raging on the warship, the other soldiers stationed further down the docks hadn’t heard him. But then she saw the others who had been behind him.

“Shit… Hurry up,” Asterin groaned under her breath, as Manon and the humans finally reached the dock where their schooner was berthed. She and Nesryn took out each soldier as they stepped into view. Their arrows were nothing but blurs that moved from the quivers strapped to their hips, onto their bows, then into their enemy below. Asterin thought idly what Nesryn might do with a witch’s immortal strength and senses, then realized those things probably wouldn’t do much to improve her already incredible skill. With every shot, a valg soldier fell. Although an arrow wasn’t enough to kill the demons, they did enough damage to immobilize them, and just as importantly, silence them.

Leaving the few remaining soldiers to Asterin, Nesryn turned away and called out orders to the man who had helped Manon on-board. The humans scrambled to various ropes and lines, those familiar with sailing directing those who weren’t. Within minutes, sails were raised and the schooner was unmoored and pulling away from the dock. Nesryn returned and they stood at the edge, watching for more soldiers, but none came.

“Is Dorian shielding this whole boat?” Asterin asked, still waiting for the enemy to resume its attack.

“He must be,” Nesryn said, her eyes never leaving the receding line of warehouses. “They can’t be that blind. Even with the fire. They’d have to see a ship this size leaving.” She licked her finger and held it above her head, then gave Asterin a look of confirmation. As an archer, she knew the gesture. There was no wind. Yet, the boat was gaining speed as it neared the buoys marking shallow sections of the bay.

“If he keeps this up, we might make it back to the cave before the others.” She caught the edge of concern on Nesryn’s brow and laid a hand on her shoulder. “If anything happened to them, we’d know. This tower would have been overrun with valg.”

Nesryn gave her a quick smile, then nodded to her bow. “You’re amazing by the way. Do you offer lessons?”

Asterin laughed. “I may have a few years on you, but I’m not sure I can show you anything new.”

The Captain rolled her eyes. “Your shot that ricocheted off the side of the building into that crouching soldier. You can teach me that.” She glanced up behind Asterin’s shoulder and said, “The crow’s nest is a good spot. Want to take turns? I’ll take first watch.”

They didn’t have many arrows left, so Asterin handed her few over and said, “I’ll look around and see if I can find more. This is a merchant ship but there should be some weapons stored somewhere.” She needed to check on Manon too. Once Nesryn started climbing the mast, Asterin took off below deck.

She found Manon sleeping on a cot in what must have been the captain’s quarters. Dorian sat next to her, his head down, concentrating on maintaining the magic that was keeping them not only hidden, but moving.

“I can sit with her if it’s easier for you to be above,” she offered, hoping her voice didn’t betray her longing. She’d missed Manon so much in the past couple of months. And they’d hardly had any time together before leaving on this mission. While she loved the excitement that came from battle, Asterin found herself wishing for a quiet moment with her cousin.

Dorian rubbed his temples and stood. “Thank you. She just needs rest, and then food. I was going to find her some water but…” He squeezed his eyes shut in what was either pain or focus.

She touched his arm and he eased a bit. “I’ve got this. Maybe you should stick to hiding us now that we’re leaving the port. We can rely on whatever wind there is from here on out.” He thanked her again, kissed Manon’s forehead, and then took his leave.

Asterin sat in the chair and leaned it back against the wall. Manon was dead to the world. And no wonder. She must have taken a couple hundred people out of the city. She huffed a laugh, thinking about Manon’s orders not to destroy Rifthold when they’d been sent to sack it. That disobedience had been veiled in her hatred for the Yellowlegs and desire to keep them from glory. But really, it had been about saving Dorian and his city. At least, saving it from the worst that could happen. 

They’d been too late to prevent that though. Had this been repayment for that failure, Asterin wondered? A way to show the humans that some witches truly were their allies? Or had it been because Manon just felt that it was the right thing to do? Both? Without the Matron hanging like a black, rotten weight from Manon’s heart, what was her cousin capable of?

 _Anything_ , she thought, pride and love swelling inside her chest. _She can do anything_.

 

To be continued...


	30. Rekindled 4

Asterin woke with a start, just barely catching herself before falling off the chair. She hadn’t meant to nod off but she was grateful now for the brief period of rest. Standing and stretching away the stiffness of the night’s work, and that shitty chair, she glanced out the porthole to see the first rays of morning glittering across the water. Had it really been only a day and a half since they’d left Perranth? Manon’s winnowing was one hell of a magic trick.

Speaking of which… She returned to her spot next to the cot. Manon was still asleep, still recovering from using almost all of her magic to save hundreds of enslaved humans from Rifthold. Dorian hadn’t known how long she might be out, but Asterin figured it would be a while. Making sure there was fresh water within reach should she wake up, Asterin pulled a blanket over Manon and headed above deck.

Humans were still bustling around with various ropes and equipment that she had no idea how to operate. A laugh escaped her lips as she realized how lost they would have been without the people Manon and Nesryn had rescued.

“It was fate.”

She spun around to find Lyra leaning against the deck rail, watching the sunrise. “What was?” she asked as she joined the Blueblood.

“All of it,” she said, matter-of-factly, not turning away from the water. “My vision. The mirrors. The people they found. The people chosen for our group. The Three-Faced Goddess watched over us on this mission.”

Asterin didn’t doubt their goddess had ensured their survival. But, she’d never been one to assign anything positive to the concept of fate. She’d been kicked in the teeth by it often enough that any association in her head was less than favorable. Arguing the value of fate with a Blueblood seer though? She was too damned tired for that. A non-committal shrug was all she could manage.

Lyra turned and faced her with dark eyes, her pupils still enlarged from the vision she’d had only hours ago. Asterin had the urge to simply walk away, but Lyra stopped her by saying, “It’s easy to give up on fate. Easier to give up on hope. Especially hope for happiness.” Those black eyes sparkled in the growing sunlight. “Don’t give up yet, Asterin Blackbeak. You have a long life ahead of you. If fate has not been kind to you, your time simply hasn’t come yet. But know that it will.”

Asterin narrowed her eyes, wondering if their tentative peace with the Blueblood clan would be ruined by throwing this nosy witch into the ocean. She was Petrah’s lover though, possibly her mate… With a heavy sigh, Asterin restrained herself and asked, “Is that your professional opinion, Lyra Blueblood?”

The witch dipped her head in concentration and then smiled kindly, making Asterin feel like an ass for her violent thoughts and biting sarcasm. “It is actually. That was my first vision last night. And I think…” She paused, struggling to find the right words. Asterin noticed that her eyes were now back to their original shade of dark brown. “It feels like I’ve been opened up. Not to everything. I don’t think I can just snap my fingers and see what’s coming. But I can… sense things.”

Against her better judgment, Asterin asked, “And what do you sense will happen to me?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, the young witch said, “Happiness. If you’re brave enough to let it in.”

 _Well shit,_ Asterin thought with a dark, brittle laugh _. You’re too late on that front Blueblood_. Her chances for that had come and gone. She’d made sure of it. With a shake of her head, she gave Lyra a forced smile, thanked her for the advice, and made her way to check on Nesryn in the crow’s nest.

Ready for a chance to rest, and enjoy some of the stale bread and dried meat someone had found in the ship’s stores, Nesryn left Asterin to take over her watch duties. Manon would be asleep for hours yet, so Asterin had no problem settling in with her bow and arrows, even if Dorian was still cloaking the schooner. She wondered when his magic might give out. After some thought, she adjusted the question from ‘when’ to ‘if’. She certainly hoped he had enough to cover them until they reached open water.

It only took a few minutes to exhaust that topic before her mind circled back to what Lyra had said. _Your time hasn’t come. But it will._ _If you’re brave enough_. She wished that was possible. And that realization struck her, hard. A part of her _did_ wish it was possible. But she’d fucked things up so badly, there was no way wishing would do anything. And even if it did, Gavriel deserved so much more than her.

 _Maybe,_ she thought as she took an achy, shallow breath, _it all really had been for the best_.

 

* * *

 

_Days earlier…_

 

Asterin opened her eyes only to squeeze them closed, groaning in pain. Her head was throbbing. Along with her arm. And the milky sunlight coming through the porthole was enough to blind her.

A deep voice sounded from close by. “Don’t sit up. You need to rest. And don’t move your arm.”

Gavriel. She covered her eyes with her good arm so she could open them, at least enough to squint. He sat in a chair next to her, tired and still bloody from their rescue of Aelin.

“What happened?” Her voice was hoarse. Had she been screaming during the fight? Or was it just from thirst? He leaned over and propped her head up, tipping a water skin to her mouth. Up close, she saw he was more than just exhausted. He was completely drained. The water skin shook a little in his hand. After she drank as much as she could, he lit a lantern and placed it out of view, then draped a blanket over the window. Gods that was better. The stabbing sensation in her brain dulled to a mere poking.

“Cairn almost took your arm off. And you hit your head. Hard.” He sounded angry. But she knew it wasn’t directed towards her. She looked down at her arm to find a sleeve of bandages from her wrist to shoulder. “I did what I could for field dressing,” he said. “But my magic was too depleted to do much. It’s stable but it will require a lot more healing.”

That explained his current state. She closed her eyes, feeling a little better after the water. “How long was I out? Did everyone make it?” She remembered seeing Briar take off on her wyvern with the Terrasen Queen the second she’d been freed, then Lorcan and Elide following on Sylph to act as guards. She remembered Maeve’s explosion of dark fury at Fenrys’s betrayal, and how the Fae Queen leashed him with her inky black power and they both disappeared. She remembered the rest of them staying to deal with Maeve’s remaining dogs.

“Less than a day.” He paused and she looked over at him. Gavriel was grinning, his canines bared and lethal. “And, not quite everyone made it.” He looked at her arm and she understood who he meant.

“Tell me how you killed him. It’ll make my head feel better.”

Laughing, he asked, “How bloody do you like your stories, Blackbeak?”

She thought about it and said, “A story about the Lion of Doranelle taking down Maeve’s most sadistic warrior? The bloodier, the better.”

“Hmmm,” he said, tilting his head. “Where should I begin? Do you recall when Rowan ordered us to fall back and you kept fighting those two red-haired Fae?”

Closing her eyes again, she sighed. “I remember handing both of them their asses.”

“Yes, but what about the part where we were ordered back to the ship?”

The warmth in Gavriel’s voice gave away his smile. “I must not have heard it,” she said, waving his words away with her good hand. “I was too busy kicking their asses.” She cracked an eyelid to find him with an elbow on the armrest, his head resting on his hand, eyes heavy on her. She grinned, her iron teeth serving as a fine substitute for Fae canines, and he laughed quietly before continuing.

“So, everyone followed orders, except you. And when I went back to get you, Cairn had regained consciousness and was closing in on you.”

“I know all that,” she said.

“But when he saw me, he changed his mind and shifted his attack. Then you jumped in between us and he sank his dagger into your arm. I heard the muscle tear and the blood sprayed-“

“Ok, I didn’t mean my blood. Skip that part,” she said with a painful wince.

He paused, then said, “He threw you down the steps and I heard your head crack against the stone.” All the humor had drained from his voice and Asterin opened her eyes to find him with his head in both hands. “Something snapped in me and I…” He sat up and looked away. “It’s been a long time since I was unable to control shifting into my lion form. Not since I was very young, still learning about my magic, learning to fight.”

After a few moments when Asterin wasn’t sure if he’d continue, Gavriel said, “I shifted and then I tore him apart. When I calmed and returned to my Fae body, all that was left were pieces scattered across the courtyard.”

His eyes met hers and she was glad to see they were free of shame. “From the stories you and Rowan told of him, he deserved it.”

Gavriel’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t do it because of that, Asterin. I did it because he almost killed you.” Fire bloomed in his honey-brown eyes and she wanted to look away but couldn’t. “I thought he’d killed you. I thought… I’d lost you.”

Her nerves were suddenly on edge and she cleared her throat. “Could I maybe get some food?” It was the last thing she wanted, but she needed him to leave, needed him to not look at her like that.

He blinked a few times, trying to make sense of what she’d asked. Perhaps wondering if she hadn’t heard him, or didn’t understand the not-so-subtle confession tucked between the words he’d spoken. But when his eyes moved down to her clenched fist, the quickening rise and fall of her chest… For a split second, his face fell. For a split second, despair overtook him. But it disappeared as fast as it came. He swallowed, nodded once, and left.

 _It’s for the best_ , Asterin told herself. She’d let things go too far with him. _It’s for the best_ , she repeated, over and over until the words were a hypnotic rhythm in her head, each beat stamping out the pain she’d seen on his face. A single, tiny ray of sun shone through a hole in the fabric hanging over the porthole and landed on her chest. Her chanting fell into step with its movement as the ship rocked in the waves. _It’s for the best_. The spot of sun inched up to fall on the bare skin of her collarbone.

Asterin froze, only now realizing she wasn’t wearing anything under the sheet that was pulled up to cover her breasts. Her uninjured hand flew to her belly.

UNCLEAN.

Something cracked within her and she began to gasp for breath, feeling like she might be sick.

The door creaked open and Elide started in, holding a tray of food. Her eyes grew wild as she took in Asterin. She dropped the tray and disappeared behind the door. A second later, Gavriel knelt next to her cot.

“Who…” She didn’t have air. Through sheer force of will, she managed to gasp, “Who undressed me?”

Gavriel took her hand in his and said, “Asterin. Look at me.”

She did, but she wanted to rip his throat out and didn’t bother to hide it. If he had been the one healing her, he must have been the one to remove her shirt. He must have seen it. He must have-

“Asterin. Slow your breathing. Look at me. You need to lay back down.”

She didn’t realize she’d tried to sit up. But she had. And now her arm felt like it was being torn open instead of her head. Blue blood seeped through the bandages and dripped onto the blankets beneath her. Gavriel eased her back and she turned her head away from him.

She couldn’t face him. Not now. Hot tears slid down her cheeks but she didn’t care. He adjusted the sheet to keep her torso covered, which only confirmed that he’d seen it.

UNCLEAN.

The Matron’s words burned through her. Defective. A disappointment. Unwanted, weak.

Snippets from the nightmares that had kept her bed bound for months in Vesta’s aerie flooded her mind. Ethan disgusted by her, ignoring her begging and pleading and apologies. Her witchling thrown into the fire like trash. Over and over.

She closed her eyes and quietly sobbed.

Gavriel carefully undid the soaked bandages. Slowly, a cool tingling overrode the searing pain in her arm. She didn’t know how long it took, but it felt like hours. Hours she spent imagining his reaction upon seeing it. Imagining his face in her old nightmares. How could he even stand to touch her now?

She felt him lift her good hand again and place a handkerchief in it.

Asterin continued to ignore him while she wiped her face. When she sniffed, her head stuffy from crying and pulsing in pain, she clenched her teeth, praying she wouldn’t be sick. He disappeared and came back with a cool cloth and wiped her sweaty forehead. She would have twisted away from his touch if she thought she wouldn’t throw up from the movement.

“The Matron did that to you.”

She ignored him.

“She nearly sliced your Queen in half. And she branded you.” He was quiet for long enough that Asterin opened her eyes to see if he was still there. He was slumped in the chair now, utterly spent from rehealing her arm. Staring at her stomach, his eyes were lit with a burning, black hate, something she’d never seen there before. Not even when they’d fought Maeve and her monsters. “If she survives this war, I will hunt that bitch down myself.”

“It’s none of your fucking business,” she spat. “You know nothing about it.”

His gaze became empathetic as it shifted to meet her stark anger. But there was something else there, battling against the compassion. It was fear, as if he was about to pet an unchained beast.

“I do know,” he said softly, after struggling to regain his composure. “I know about your witchling.”

That thing that had cracked in her earlier broke apart completely. She was cut in half. She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t be here. She could not stand this any longer. So she just… let herself go. Let herself float away from her body and rise into the air.

Above everything, separated from her wreck of a body below, she felt… numb. Not at peace, but close enough that she could examine herself with complete detachment. She didn’t need to see the brand to know exactly what each letter looked like, how the lumpy skin felt underneath her fingers. She didn’t need to see the scars on her back to remember what each lash of punishment felt like. Even the slashes down her cheeks, the broken noses, the black eyes… All of those things were somehow visible now that she’d cleaved herself in two. But the numbness remained.

_I know about your witchling._

That scar was invisible, but it was the worst of them all. Her ethereal self watched in fascination as the one below shuddered. A gray mist spread slowly from her chest, from her broken heart, until it shrouded her body. Sealing it, preventing anything from getting in or out.

Looking back down into her own face, she saw the word on her lips but didn’t hear it. _How?_

There were tears in his eyes now. She could see that from where she hovered. His mouth began to move but there was only a low buzzing in her ears. And yet, she still knew what he said. _The bloodhound. It told Manon that you were dead. She didn’t believe it so it taunted her with knowledge of you. Your witchling.  
_

At that last word, the noise in her head exploded and she fell, sucked painfully back into her body. This worthless, filthy body that she was so tired of. So ready to abandon.

“I want you to leave. Leave me alone and don’t come back.” she said, her voice guttural and deadly. But she knew the barbed choice of words would sting more than the venom. “Stay away from me!” she screamed.

Gavriel flinched. He looked at her as if she’d clawed his heart out of his chest. And maybe she had.

“Go,” she said.

He rose unsteadily to his feet, and stumbled the short distance to the door. Before he shut it behind him, he said, “I’ll send Elide. And Rowan. If you need more healing.”

The door clicked, and Asterin was alone.

She didn’t remember falling asleep, but when she opened her eyes, her room was dark. A presence nearby shifted and then Elide was leaning over her.

“Stay still. Your arm is much better but your head may need some time yet.”

Asterin didn’t move. _What about the rest of me?_ she thought bitterly.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty?” Elide rubbed her forehead with a wet cloth. The room was stuffy and thick with heat.

Wiggling her fingers, she was surprised to find her arm was much better. It was sore, as if she’d pulled most of the muscles in it, but there was none of the stabbing pain from before. Carefully, she experimented with slow, limited movements.

“Gavriel was almost burned out. He collapsed after healing it,” Elide volunteered.

“I don’t care,” Asterin said as she carefully pushed up and propped herself on the wall.

The girl frowned. “He saved your life.”

“And who the hell asked him to do that?” She was dangerously close to making her leave. But getting Elide to do something she didn’t want to would take more effort than she was willing to give.

“I know more than a few who will thank him. And if you don’t think Manon will give him a hug and a kiss, you’re an idiot.”

Asterin turned and looked at the girl. She burst into a laugh at the visual but cut it short when her head ached in protest. Elide’s face beamed with victory. “You’ve been around me too long,” Asterin muttered with a glare.

Elide filled a glass with water and handed it to her. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

As she drank, Elide filled her in on everyone else. Rowan was still healing Aelin, whose own magic had been drained from keeping herself alive in Maeve’s prison. Lorcan and Briar had only suffered minor injuries and had been helped by human and Fae healers. The fact that they’d succeeded without any losses had left Rowan and Lorcan suspicious, worried about what Maeve had planned now. Aelin hadn’t told her where the keys were. But the Fae Queen wasn’t stupid. She’d seen Manon on the beach that day. They were anxious to get back to Erilea for more reasons than reuniting with their friends. Maeve was undoubtedly on her way there as well.

“And you?” Asterin asked, eyeing Elide from head to toe.

“I’m fine.”

“Uh huh. So you’re telling me you got into and out of that fortress without a scratch?”

She grinned. “I’m good at hiding. And, I’m a Blackbeak.”

“Damn right you are,” Asterin said, abandoning her upright position and laying back down on the cot.

Abruptly, Elide asked, “Are you ok? When I came in earlier…”

She closed her eyes, hoping it would be enough to dissuade more questions. “I’m fine. Just hit my head. Panicked a little bit.”

“I wasn’t really joking. About Manon,” Elide said softly. “You mean everything to her. If she lost you… I don’t know what she’d do.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you need to be reminded.”

Asterin gave up and looked at the girl. “Of what?” It was hard to keep the annoyance from her voice. Elide had a way of seeing right into someone. And then not giving a shit when she called you out on what she found there.

“That there are a lot of people who love you. Witches, humans, and Fae.” She put special emphasis on that last word and Asterin shook her head in dark amusement. “You need,” Elide added with conviction, “to remember how important you are to us. You need to remember that you are brave and strong and loved.” She placed her hand on top of Asterin’s. “Any other opinion doesn’t matter. Anyone who thinks differently can rot in hell.”

Asterin swallowed, squeezed her hand and smiled. “Elide, I’m not sure how I feel about you cursing.”

“Guess I have been around you too long.”

Their fleet raced back to Terrasen, and Asterin spent the time in her room. It took a while for her head to feel normal, so it wasn’t just to stay hidden from a certain pair of honey brown eyes. But, she had to admit to herself at least, that was part of it, pathetic as it was. As much as it added to the weight of her guilt and self-pity, she knew things would be infinitely worse if she saw Gavriel face to face.

Elide included him in her daily updates about everyone on the ship. She tried and failed to get Asterin to leave the room, even with guarantees that Gavriel was elsewhere and there was no chance they’d run into him. The one and only time she suggested he visit, Asterin had exploded. Despite all of Elide’s persuasion, she refused to change her mind. It was for the best that she not seek him out. And it was for the best that he continued to stay away.

With each day that passed, that last thought sank in a little deeper, like a knife slowly making its way to her heart. But she’d told him to go. If any part of her regretted that now, she’d have to live with it.

When they were a few days from Suria, Rowan visited her with a request that she couldn’t refuse. Anything to get her the hell off this ship. The moment she’d packed up her things and loaded herself with weapons, she said goodbye to Elide and Briar. Aedion and Lysandra needed to be ready for their arrival. And she was desperate to see Manon.

When she took to the air, she made herself not look back. But she knew Gavriel had watched her go.

 

* * *

 

Manon moved sluggishly through the narrow corridor. She’d drained the pitcher of water left by her bed, and finished the bread and meat in minutes. While the food allowed her to get out of bed, she knew it would take time before she felt like herself.

Just as she was about to attempt the ladder to the ship’s deck, boots appeared and started down the steps. When Nesryn landed, equally surprised and relieved to find Manon awake and mobile, the girl moved as if to hug her, but stopped herself at the last second. Manon smiled and pulled her into a quick embrace, leaving Nesryn laughing.

“You have excellent timing,” she said. “I was just coming to check on you.”

“Oh?” Manon asked. Nesryn didn’t look as if there was an emergency. “Why is it good timing? How long have I been asleep anyway?”

“Two days.” She glanced up the ladder and said, “I need your help with a couple of stubborn asses.”

Rolling her eyes, she said, “Let me guess…”

“I don’t know if you can guess this,” Nesryn said, then sighed in frustration. “Well, maybe you can. Dorian hasn’t slept. Or rested at all for that matter. He’s been shielding the boat since Rifthold. No one followed us out, and if they did send someone searching, we had too much of a head start for them to catch us. We’re out of immediate danger and far enough away from the blockade, but he refuses to take a break.”

She wasn’t surprised. “And Asterin?”

Nesryn’s face grew serious. “I’m not sure. She’s spent all her time with you or above on watch. I’ve been keeping an eye on her but she made it clear she didn’t want any company.”

Manon frowned. “Where is she now?” Her mind raced. Was it the loss of Vesta catching up to her? Or something else? Asterin hadn’t really been acting out of the ordinary. At least, her version of ordinary. The grins and jokes were all there. But Manon knew now that those things were camouflage for the pain that was always kept hidden inside.

“Crows nest.” Nesryn’s mood lightened and she shook her head. “I even threatened Dorian with telling Chaol, hoping he’d stop to avoid getting a lecture when we return. But he just waved me away.”

She smiled. “I’ll deal with him first. Thank you.”

Manon climbed the ladder. Slowly. Gods. She vowed to never use so much magic again. The lie helped ease the ache of her muscles. The fresh air and sunshine did even more to lift the heaviness weighing her down.

Dorian was leaning against a mast, head down, eyes closed, arms crossed. She saw his cheek dimple when he sensed her approach. Otherwise, he didn’t move.

“Tell me Princeling, are you trying to kill yourself? Or is this a sad attempt to outdo my impressive magical abilities?”

His grin turned cocky and he finally raised his head to look at her. He was exhausted, his face wan and his eyes turned a stormy blue from the dark circles shadowing them. “Do I look that bad?”

“You look like…” Manon moved closer so he could wrap his arm around her waist. She kissed him gently and he let himself fall against her, his forehead resting on her shoulder. “You look like you have been hiding an entire ship for two days. You look like it’s your turn to sleep for as long as you want.” She kissed the tip of his ear and smiled as he sighed. “You look like a king who will do anything for his people.”

Silently, she added, _But you need to rest if you plan on doing more, my king._

Dorian released another long breath. “I’d say you’ve become more than just my queen after saving my people.” His arms tightened around her. “Thank you Witchling.”

“Oh!” Manon pulled away. “I almost forgot. Philippa is glad you’re safe.”

That small but vital piece of information brought the life back to Dorian’s eyes. “What? She was in the group you rescued? Is she ok?” He stepped back, looking ready to fight or run or do anything besides stay on the ship.

“She’s free and as safe as I could manage. Once I regain my strength I’ll try to find them. I don’t know what I would’ve done without her. She kept everyone together and organized after I got them out.” He drew her back against him in a tight hug. “You’re not going to be able to sleep now are you?” she asked with a breathless laugh. “Nesryn said we are out of danger.”

But the quick boost of energy was already burning out. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.” Dorian let her go and she glanced up into the crows nest. He seemed to know what she was about to say. “I’m going to bed. You go talk to her.”

“Did she say anything to you? About what’s bothering her?”

Dorian shook his head. “She’s been pretty quiet since we got away. I don’t know if she’s had much sleep either.”

With a kiss, she left Dorian to get rest and began climbing up towards Asterin.

“Have you become a crow or do you just miss your wyvern?” Manon asked, climbing over the low edge of the lookout.

“Listen,” Asterin drawled. “I’m the smart ass in our coven. That’s a poor challenge for the title.” Her smile broke free before she finished her teasing. “So, how was your nap? Refreshing, I hope.”

“Gods,” Manon grumbled, sitting down next to her. “You’re also the coven’s pain in the ass.”

With a nod and a flourish, Asterin said, “At your service.”

Manon smiled, but she was no longer fooled by her cousin’s deflections. There were times when they were needed to lighten a tense moment or ease insults or tempers. But in this instance, it was all about hiding whatever was hurting her.

“I sent Dorian to bed,” Manon said, gazing out across the ocean. As if on cue, the air around them shimmered. Nothing changed with the view. It was still clear sky, rolling waves of dark water, and a brilliant setting sun. The barely visible flicker was the only sign that Dorian’s magic was no longer protecting them. Asterin stood and spun in a circle, as if expecting an enemy armada to suddenly take shape around them. “It hides us, not them.”

Asterin sat back down heavily, her weariness now obvious. “I know,” she said. “It’s just hard to get used to… all this new magic.”

Manon watched her as she rubbed her left arm. She was certain there had been no mention of an injury in Asterin’s tale about Aelin’s rescue, and just as sure one hadn’t been sustained in the past few days. But as she thought back over the brief time since Asterin had returned, she began to remember things she’d overlooked and passed off as sadness over Vesta’s death. And maybe they were. Maybe the way Asterin seemed to avoid Manon’s gaze yet stare at Dorian when she thought no one noticed was about grief over a lost sister. Maybe that explained how easily distracted she seemed to be lately. Maybe it was the reason behind her lack of sleep. Manon’s trust in her own judgment, especially when it came to her cousin, had been severely shaken when Asterin told her about the witchling and love she’d lost. So maybe all of that was true. But she didn’t think so.

Knowing what the answer would be, Manon said, “Why don’t you go rest. I can sit up here and keep watch.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re so full of shit.”

Asterin turned with narrowed eyes. “What?”

“I spent most of my life oblivious to what was happening to you. That’s no longer the case.”

Asterin shook her head and laughed, returning to her scrutiny of the empty water. “I’m not in the mood for this Manon.”

 _Too bad_ , Manon thought. “Is it Vesta?” She got no reply. “The matron?” Nothing. “Would it help to know I cursed her before she died?” Asterin’s head tilted slightly, considering, but she didn’t say anything. “Is it because Dorian is my mate?” she asked quietly. The tension that rippled across Asterin’s shoulders was answer enough. 

“Curse?”

“I tried not to flaunt it,” Manon said, ignoring the diversion. “I knew it might be hard for you.”

“Gods Manon, just stop! I’m not jealous of you. Or him for that matter.”

Manon sighed. “I didn’t mean-”

Asterin cut her off, anger overtaking her. “What do you plan to do when he dies? He’s mortal. You’re not. What then?”

Determined to not give Asterin the reaction she sought, Manon gritted her teeth and said evenly, “We are not stupid Asterin. It’s been discussed.” She paused before adding, “And it’s none of your concern.” Manon flashed back to a night months ago when Vesta had confronted her in a similar fashion. The witch hadn’t been as brutally honest as Asterin, but she’d been worried nonetheless.

The irritation that had laced Asterin’s words was gone as quickly as it had appeared. She leaned back and knocked her head against the mast jutting through their perch high above the ship. It wasn’t just her slackened body that showed the state she was in. Asterin’s face was contorted in such sadness that Manon reached over and rested a hand on her shoulder. Her cousin’s eyes closed tightly and she drew her bottom lip in between her teeth. To keep from crying Manon realized.

“Please Asterin. You’ve helped me, you’ve protected me my whole life. Let me help you.” Manon’s voice felt close to breaking, but she managed to hold it together.

“What happens…” Asterin’s eyes opened but she refused to look at Manon. “What happens when he dies? Do you think you could… Would you ever be able to love someone again? Could you live with yourself if that happened?”

Manon finally understood. It wasn’t about the losses of their sister or enemies. Nor was it about some latent jealousy over Dorian’s place by her side.

Out of nowhere, she thought of the dark voice that still plagued her on occasion. The one that fought against all reason to tell her how much of a monster she was, how worthless she was. It’s frequency had lessened; talking to Dorian and Fallon helped keep it at bay. But she knew it would never disappear completely. It was part of her, a remnant of her upbringing at the hands of a true monster. 

Though, it wasn’t just _her_ upbringing she thought, wondering at the extent of the damage that one witch had inflicted. Not just to herself, but to Asterin and the Thirteen, all the Blackbeaks and the other Ironteeth clans, generations of Crochans… She’d been so hungry for power that she’d almost decimated their kind. But her legacy also lay in the plague she’d infested them with, insidious and ever present. The doubt, the darkness, the hate. The idea that they were unworthy of anything except pain and punishment. Obedience, discipline, and brutality.

This whole time, she’d been looking at Asterin, who was still waiting for an answer. Asterin, whose strength and loyal friendship was unshakeable, who’d survived more than Manon could imagine in her darkest nightmares - she was still waiting to hear if she was worthy of happiness.

Manon realized that maybe she was a monster. If the matron wasn’t already dead and rotting, she’d take a sword to her again for what she’d done to Asterin. She’d gladly be a monster to punish anyone who hurt the ones she loved.

Taking Asterin’s shaky hand in her own, Manon finally said, “I don’t know.” Asterin’s eyes were full of pain and almost overflowing with tears. “I don’t know,” she repeated. “The one thing I do know, is that if I die first, if I am the one watching from the Darkness as he lives on, I would want him to be happy. Whatever that entails. That’s the only way I would be at peace. Asterin, if you have a chance at love again, Ethan would want you to take it. You deserve it. And you deserve to be happy.”

 

* * *

 

Asterin stared at Manon, searching for the lie masquerading as truth. But as hard as she looked, she couldn’t find it. Manon was being honest, not just telling her what she so desperately wanted to hear. _  
_

_You deserve it._

_That’s too simple_ , she thought, deciding that the guilt of her betrayal was too deep to climb out of.

“Look at me.”

 _I thought I was_. She raised her head. Gods she was so tired. She yearned for sleep. A sleep that lasted longer than an hour and was untainted by dreams of fires and red hot brands and loss. Lost loves, lost witchlings, lost chances.

“I failed you. So many times. I am sorry-“

“No,” Asterin broke in vehemently. “You don’t owe me anything. I chose to serve you Manon, and I have never regretted it. Not one day.”

“I do owe you. This and more. And you will hear me out. I never had the chance to say this to Vesta and I will not let that happen again. I’m sorry for ever doubting you. I’m sorry for following her orders and not fighting back against her sooner. I’m sorry for all that she took from you. And all that I let her do to you.” She stopped speaking as her eyes slid to Asterin’s crooked nose.

Manon herself had broken it a few times while enforcing the matron’s code. She’d never apologized for it and Asterin had never once thought it was necessary. But now…

“I’m sorry for everything I did to you. All the punishments… I was wrong. I’m so sorry Asterin.”

She hadn’t needed it before. But hearing the words, seeing the regret on Manon’s face… Asterin felt a tiny weight lift that she’d never known was there. Manon wasn’t to blame for being lied to and manipulated by the matron. She’d suffered in her own ways. But, Asterin had to admit it had still hurt. More than physically. Hearing the words released something from inside her, a tiny piece of herself that had always insisted she’d deserved the punishments, no matter how unfair.

“The matron’s poison runs deep within us,” Manon went on, looking back over the ocean. “Even in witches who fought back. Even in you. I don’t have a quick solution for it. Dorian helps me on the bad days, making me remember that I am loved and worthy of it. Aven too.” Manon smiled softly. “And my parents.” At Asterin’s confused look, she added, “I have letters from my father. I’ll show them to you when we get back. They truly loved each other despite all the obstacles. And they loved me. Dorian and Aven remind me, and my parents.But you have reminded me too Asterin, my entire life, even when I was too blind to see it.”

She stared at Manon, wide-eyed, not from the revelation about her parents, but at the strength in her cousin’s voice. The surety and intensity of emotion that seemed to tug at her, lifting her.

“So, let me be someone who will remind you that you are loved and deserve every happiness in the world.”

Asterin’s breath caught, remembering Elide’s words not so long ago. _You need to be reminded… that you are brave, and strong, and loved._ Unable to form words, she nodded slowly.

Manon smiled brightly, despite the moisture in her eyes, and said, “Good, then we will help each other. Now…” She paused for effect and Asterin stilled, wondering what was next. “You can’t possibly expect me to not ask who it is.”

She laughed through her own tears and said, “That’s exactly what I expect. It doesn’t matter now anyway.” Manon just sat there smiling, clearly prepared to wait for the name. Asterin shook her head, annoyed but too charmed by this new Manon to say no. She still made her wait though.

Finally, she sighed and said, “Gavriel.” Despite everything, saying his name made her smile.

“Aedion’s father?!”

Asterin’s smile faltered as she pondered Manon’s horror-stricken outburst. “Shit… when you put it like that…”

They stared at each other for a moment, and then they both burst out laughing. When their laughter ebbed and they grew quiet again, Asterin shrugged. “Like I said, it’s not an issue. I didn’t leave things on a high note.”

Settling back against the hard wooden mast, Manon simply said, “Tell me.”

Surprisingly, she did, telling her about their friendship, her fear at letting him get too close, her guilt at still wanting him to… Asterin told her everything and Manon stayed quiet, listening intently. When she brought up the injury sustained while rescuing Aelin, Manon tensed, suddenly realizing where things were headed in the story.

“He said the bloodhound had told you, told everyone there, about… her. I kind of lost it and made him leave. Told him not to come back. And he didn’t.” Her voice had become coolly detached, and she hoped Manon would take it at face value and let the subject go. But when she looked at her, Asterin knew those molten eyes had seen everything she’d tried to hide behind a wall of ice - her regret for punishing him for knowing her deepest secret, and her anguish that he’d done exactly what she’d told him to do and left her alone.

“I’m so tired, Manon,” she said, blinking back tears and slumping against the mast.

“I know.” The words had the sound of apology in them and she clasped Asterin’s hand.

They sat and watched the sun slip beneath the far horizon. Manon was still holding onto her hand when she asked with a quiet, quavering voice, “What was her name?”

Asterin turned away, trying to remember how to breathe. She was about to stand and walk away when she realized where they were. Fucking Manon! She knew she couldn’t get away easily, that’s why she asked the question. As she felt herself begin to tear apart, she took a long, steadying breath and reminded herself… This wasn’t a secret from Manon. Reminded herself that this was a different ship, a different situation. Manon was her family. Manon was her life.

And so, because it was Manon, because she loved her, Asterin thought she could talk about it. But fear still fluttered inside her chest. “You know we weren’t allowed to name them until they were a year old.”

Not taking her eyes from the view, Manon said, “I know if anyone was brave enough to break heartless rules like that, it was you.”

“Flattery,” she said with a poorly faked laugh.

“The truth,” Manon replied, facing her with eyes shimmering silver instead of gold.

In a faint, breathy voice, Asterin said, “I was going to name her Seren.”

A bittersweet smile bloomed on Manon’s face. “The brightest star in the Hunter?”

She nodded once and Manon shifted to lean against her. Asterin gave in and rested her head on her shoulder, closing her eyes in the hopes her tears wouldn’t fall. But they did. And as Manon’s arm wrapped around her and pulled her close, she let them. She was so tired, and it felt so good to be held.

"You and your stars,” Manon whispered. “It’s a beautiful name. You are such a wonderful mother.”

Exhaustion was quickly overtaking her, but she corrected, “I’m not a mother though. I wasn’t…”

“You have loved her every day. Thought of her every day. Seren is a part of you and you are part of her.”

Asterin didn’t think she could argue with that. And she was too weary to argue anyway. She drifted off to sleep as her witchling rose bright and brilliant in the dark night sky.

 

 

To be continued…

 


	31. Rekindled 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter of my Asterin side story.  
> Previously, Manon, Dorian, Asterin and company stole some witch mirrors from Rifthold and Manon winnowed out a few hundred enslaved citizens. On their ship back to Terrasen, Manon and Asterin had a well deserved heart-to-heart, and we learned what happened to make Asterin push Gavriel away.  
> Sorry this last installment took so long! I’d suggest rereading the previous chapter if you have the time. Mostly for selfish reasons, because I’m kind of proud of that chapter. The Manon-Asterin moments were just… a lot of feels.  
> Anyway, after this, there will be two final epilogues to Child of Peace. Thanks so much for reading!

Manon couldn’t contain her glare as she scanned the people gathered in the small dining room of the inn. She was anxious to return to their stolen ship, even though she’d only been gone a few hours and Dorian would be arriving at the port tomorrow. Sitting through a meeting to discuss the Adarlanians she’d rescued hadn’t been part of her plan when she’d decided to winnow to Suria. Yet, here she was, surrounded by humans, all clamoring over dwindling resources and whether they should even bother helping the refugees.

She had expected to meet with a spitting mad Aedion upon her arrival that morning. However, they’d managed to avoid his wrath for several reasons. Mostly, he was too distracted by Aelin’s return to care that they’d destroyed Erawan’s witch mirrors. Their recovery of a single tower’s worth of mirrors appeased any residual anger he felt towards them. And though Manon had not spoken to Aelin directly, she’d been assured by Lysandra that the Queen agreed with their plan to turn the mirrors over to a contingent of Crochan elders and senior healers from the Torre Cesme. The women and witches would get to work immediately on developing a spell to free Erawan’s valg-enslaved soldiers.

As some Terrasen officer argued against aid, Manon glanced at Lysandra. The shapeshifter, now back to her beautiful, dark-haired self, looked as exasperated as she felt. She turned to Manon and rolled her eyes dramatically, clearly done with listening to this blowhard. As Aelin’s representative at this meeting, she had the power to end it.

Standing and clearing her throat loudly for everyone’s attention, Lysandra said, “Our allies from Adarlan and the witch clans have already offered to take the refugees to their camps in Perranth. The Crochans have already offered to send supplies to help them. This argument is pointless.” Several of the men scowled at her but she ignored them. When their attention slid to Manon, she gave them an iron smile that wiped the insolence off their faces. “The only discussion remaining is how many wagons and soldiers can be sent to transport them. Her Majesty understands that we don’t have many to spare, but she has ordered that they be spared anyway.” She looked around the room. “So, which of you will volunteer?”

An older noble, whose face seemed to be frozen in a permanent sneer, asked, “And why are the witches not doing it? It is one of their leaders,” the sneer turned towards Manon, “who is responsible for them being here. They can deal with it.”

Manon’s iron nails dug into the wooden table as she forced herself to remember the importance of diplomacy. Better the table be pierced than this idiot’s throat. But before she could speak, Lysandra replied, “She is the Witch Queen. You’d do well to remember that the next time you address her.” The growl that reverberated through her words was pure animal, and Manon smiled in admiration.

The lord, or whatever he was, dipped his head in mocking respect, his face still twisted in disgust. 

But he said no more, and Manon thought that he didn’t need to. They all knew what had been done to Rifthold only a few months ago. They knew why it was not a good idea to have a force of witches descend on wyverns to escort the refugees to Perranth. It didn’t matter that a witch had rescued them from Erawan. When she’d first checked on them after replenishing her magic, she found them in poor condition, and extremely wary of her presence. During their interactions in the harbor, she’d mistakenly viewed their docility and compliance as acceptance of her. In reality, they’d simply been numb and in shock from enslavement and the surprise rescue. Winnowing Dorian to them had greatly improved their spirits and earned her a bit more trust. But enough refused to be winnowed again that they’d been forced down this path.  

As silence grew heavy in the room, she realized she was slowly being left with no other choice than to use her witches. Aelin, still recovering and not yet at full strength, may have ordered the nobles to help, but her control over these power hungry men was tenuous at best. These were not humans who would take well to being led by a young woman, royal lineage or not. From the corner of the room, a young man pushed his way through the crowd. Manon wondered how old he was, surely no more than twenty. Some of the older men chuckled.

“Lady,” he said, bowing to Lysandra. Then to Manon, “Your Majesty, I have some men who can help escort them.” He looked around the room, not wavering in his stance. “Not all of us are willing to let innocents suffer.” The laughs turned into low murmurs, including a few threatening words.

Before the crowd could turn nasty, or worse, fall back into endless debate, Manon stood and approached him. Silence returned and more than one man reached for his sword. 

“How many?” she asked, keeping her voice even.

The young man didn’t flinch at her nearness, nor did he drop his eyes. “Only fifty. But it would need to be done on foot. Unless,” he looked at the blank faces watching them. “Someone will provide wagons.” Those faces turned to look anywhere but at them.

_Useless cowards_. She didn’t envy Aelin for having this lot waiting for her. Manon tilted her head, wondering if she could winnow them directly to where the Adarlanians were currently camped. They’d only made it as far as the border, too bogged down by the sick and injured and limited to movement at night. Getting guards to them immediately, even without transportation back, would be better than nothing.  

“That will be enough,” Manon said. “Have them ready to leave in the hour. Weapons, and as much food as you can manage.” 

He bowed to her and Lysandra, then took off to prepare his men. Amidst the petulant grumbling and just before the door closed, Manon caught sight of a figure waiting outside the room.

“Please tell me we’re through here,” she said to Lysandra. “We will manage without wagons.“ She would have to winnow to Perranth and enlist at least a few witches. Crochan healers would be needed, and she supposed their less menacing appearance would not trouble the civilians too much.  

Lysandra pushed her gently towards the door, following close behind. “Gods, can you take me with you? I don’t care where. Just away from these asses.” Manon laughed as they escaped the cramped room. “I swear,” she continued, “if I couldn’t shift and run through the wilderness at night, I’d go insane. Tell your wyvern I miss him.”

The wyverns and Nesryn’s ruk were all back on the ship. The Terrasen sea cave where they’d left their mounts had been her second stop after regaining her strength enough to winnow and check on the Adarlanians. As she’d expected, a few of the others who’d accompanied them on the mission were waiting, refusing to give up hope that Manon and her group had been captured or killed. After a brief reunion and update - the mirrors in the other two towers in Rifthold were destroyed - she’d ordered them back to their camps and then brought the wyverns and ruk back to the ship, relishing every moment in the air with Abraxos. 

The Terrasen nobles gave them a wide berth as they left. With a smile, Manon said, “I will be sure to visit on our way back through. Although, he’s reunited with Asterin’s wyvern, so you may need to fight for his attention.” 

Lysandra waved her off, then glanced over at who waited nearby. She leaned closer to Manon and whispered, “He’s a mess. I hope you can lift his spirits.” Loudly, she added, “I will tell Her Majesty that you and the King will visit her soon.”

Manon thanked her and Lysandra left her alone with Gavriel.

She’d never given the Fae male much thought after her initial assessment months ago that he was a strong and capable warrior. But now, she looked at him with new focus, eager to gauge other qualities beyond his fighting ability. His presence here, anxiously waiting for her… She bit back an approving smile.

“Manon,” he said, bowing his head slightly. His clenched fists were the only sign that his restraint was slipping.

“Gavriel.” Manon thought about toying with him, but she didn’t have the heart for it. So before the question fell out of his open mouth, she said, “Asterin is safe.”

The sigh that left his body sent him back against a wall. Manon vaguely remembered Aelin making a comment about ‘territorial Fae bullshit’, or something to that effect. She was almost as relieved as Gavriel that her relationship with Dorian was lacking in that regard.

Once he recovered, Gavriel said, “After we heard that your group was missing…” He trailed off for a minute, still trying to calm himself. When he caught her eyeing him, he raised his hands placatingly and said, “I just needed to know she was safe. I won’t bother her.” His head dropped down again.

The resolve in his words troubled her, as did his listless eyes and defeated posture. Lysandra was right. He was a mess. During the short time she’d been around him, he’d given off an air of understated dignity - practical, battle-ready clothing, neat grooming, and regal manners. Unlike the other Fae who’d accompanied him, the preening wolf who seemed overly concerned with his appearance. Not only did Gavriel now look as if he’d had no sleep in weeks, his clothing had stains and tears, and pieces of his hair hung limply in his face. Blonde stubble, tinged with red, covered the lower half of his face. A small part of her hated to get involved… But it was too small to put up a fight. Asterin deserved a second chance, and despite his proclamation, he seemed very willing to give her one.

“You should bother her,” she finally said. “In fact, I demand that you bother her.”

He looked up from where he still leaned against the wall, amber eyes wide with disbelief. And hope. His whole body lit up and it made something inside her lighten as well. From all Asterin had told her about him, and from what she’d gleaned from Dorian, Gavriel was nothing if not good. She’d seen that herself when he’d healed Elide. And when he’d offered to stand against Maeve, despite the blood oath chaining him to her.

“She’s not planning to stop here when they land, and I don’t think I can do much to change her mind.” His face fell slightly. “But perhaps you and I can make other arrangements.”

Without hesitation, he said, “Anything.” 

Manon grinned. If she hadn’t already made up her mind, that single word would have won her over to him. 

“Do you mind flying?”

Gavriel’s face blanched until it was almost as white as her own hair. But he replied quickly and firmly. “No.”

The question was deliberately misleading. Maybe she did want to play with him a bit, she thought with a little smirk. She knew from Asterin that he was lying, even if his change in complexion hadn’t told her. And again, his answer boosted her opinion of him. “Pack up. We leave in an hour.”

 

* * *

 

As they neared the Ironteeth-Crochan war camps, Asterin grew more and more fidgety in her saddle. She longed for a proper bath. Hell, even a bucket of water would be bliss so long as it was warm. She’d had enough of the salty ocean and freezing cold streams that ran down from the mountains. She refused to dwell on the fact that she could have bathed in Suria when their ship landed, had she not insisted on leaving for Perranth the moment they’d unloaded the mirrors. Luckily, Nesryn and Lyra were just as anxious to get on their way, so the three of them had left Manon and Dorian behind to manage things with their allies and the refugees. 

Part of her had hesitated at the idea of leaving her Queen undefended, something that would have been inconceivable mere months ago. But Manon had magic now, and so did Dorian. Her insistence that Asterin leave made it clear she knew why her cousin didn’t want to stay long in the port city. Aelin and her retinue were still in Suria, which meant Asterin wanted to be anywhere but there. 

The magic wasn’t the only new facet of Manon’s personality, and Asterin found it difficult to wrap her head around it at times. To think, she’d been the one recently trying to explain the concept of love to Manon, and now, Asterin was the one on the receiving end of advice. As they soared over the beautiful countryside, something Manon had said floated through her mind.

During one of their conversations, in which she’d argued that it was pointless to worry over Gavriel since she’d already rejected him, Manon had grown quiet. Asterin, thinking she’d finally won, stood and turned to leave when she was stopped by a hand on her arm. 

Manon said, “Don’t let what she did to you define who you are _.”_

Surprisingly, it took her a moment to understand who the _she_ was _._ "You want me to just forget?” Asterin had asked angrily. “Forget that she murdered my witchling?” _  
_

“No,” Manon had replied, her voice choked with emotion. "It’s too tangled up in good things. Ethan, Seren. You’ll never forget them, nor should you. But, if you willingly let go of a chance for happiness… the matron wins.” Manon’s eyes had glazed over with unshed tears. “I don’t know how to separate the good from bad. Or even if we should. But… She’s taken so much. Don’t let her win anymore. Don’t let her dictate how you go on living your life. Don’t let the scars overshadow who you are. Asterin, you are so much more. _“  
_

Now, as they neared the sprawling camps outside Perranth, Asterin wiped a stray tear from her cheeks. She knew Manon was right. And she’d been especially clever, appealing to her stubborn hatred of the matron. If Asterin wasn’t quite able to see herself as Manon did, she was certainly capable of doing whatever it took to spite that bitch.

“What does it matter though,” she said to the rushing wind. There were so many obstacles standing between her and Gavriel. Not only her outburst the last time she’d seen him, but bigger things - a war they might not survive, and their obligations to serve different courts. 

By the time they landed their mounts in the wyvern paddock, Asterin had forced herself back to daydreaming about hot water and soap. Nesryn waved and continued on towards the ruk side of the camp, and as soon as Lyra hurriedly saw to her wyvern, she too waved goodbye and took off running to find Petrah.

As she undid the saddle straps, Asterin wondered if maybe she’d made a mistake in coming back so soon. The Thirteen were here, and they had a lot to catch up on, but a wave of loneliness washed over her. It wasn’t a foreign feeling. She should be used to it by now, she thought. But each time it struck, it seemed to catch her by surprise. 

Sylph suddenly released a friendly whine, traveling from high to low pitch in an almost comical manner. Asterin froze in mid reach of a supply bag. It had been weeks since she’d heard that noise come from her wyvern. A sound of greeting that had been reserved for only one person.

Closing her eyes, she spent several seconds wavering between her desire to turn around and her inability to move. Fear kept her from turning, whispering that she would find no one there. But she knew who had approached. Even if she hadn’t sensed him, she knew who was there, knew now why Manon had pushed her to fly back. A laugh almost bubbled up through the anxiety that had flooded her.

Sylph huffed and jostled beneath her hands, stretching to receive attention from him. Although she heard some muffled words of affection for her wyvern, she did not turn around.

“Hello Asterin.”

Hearing him speak her name made her breath catch in her throat. He sounded better than when she’d last seen him, his voice deep and resonant. 

“I heard about your mission and just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Before she could stop herself, she said, “You could have learned that in Suria.” Her heart added hopefully, _And yet he came all this way.._.  

"I… I won’t be here long,” he stammered, assuming the worst of her statement despite the lack of bite in her words. “I can arrange to leave in the morning.

Asterin turned, her eyes still closed. She couldn’t remember a moment when she’d been this terrified. Not when she’d strutted into Blackbeak Keep with a box of Crochan trophies, unsure if she’d be killed on sight. Not when she’d confessed to Manon about her past, risking expulsion from the Thirteen. Not when Manon’s blade was hanging over her neck in Morath, poised to end her suffering. 

That’s how she’d viewed so much of her life since losing Ethan and Seren. A dull, gray haze of numb suffering, hidden beneath a wild smile. A search for an end buried within a boisterous and reckless shell. 

The fear overwhelming her now was so strange because for once, she was not facing death, ready to accept the peace that the Darkness offered. Instead, she found herself facing life. And it had been so long since she’d last wanted to embrace it. But she found herself wanting it now. Slowly, she opened her eyes. 

Gavriel stood before her, so different from the last time she’d seen him, no longer battle weary and burnt out, but healthy and vibrant. And yet, he looked the same - handsome and strong, his eyes still unfailingly kind. She felt as though her body were floating, but not in retreat, not to remove herself from pain. It was because of the way he was looking at her. His clear, amber eyes still held fast to hope. And love.

“I only ask that you listen. Then I will go,” he said. Asterin’s heart dropped and it must have shown on her face, for he took a step towards her and added, “If you want me to, I mean.”

She didn’t trust herself to speak, so she nodded for him to continue. 

His mouth twitched into a smile. “You know, when I tracked Manon down, I expected an interrogation. But she only asked me one question. Makes me wonder about the reputation you Ironteeth have.”

Asterin narrowed her eyes at him playfully and he grinned. She cursed under her breath, realizing just how much she’d missed that sight.

He came forward again, only a step, then arched an eyebrow at her accusingly. “Asking how I felt about flying before magically transporting me here… It seems that my secret fear is no longer a secret.”

She avoided looking at him for a few seconds but eventually, she had to, his smile drawing one out from her. “It might help to know Dorian still gets sick after being winnowed.” She shrugged. “That made me feel better when I was throwing my guts up after the first time.” His laugh sent her heart racing and she almost moved toward him, wanting to show him how happy she was that he was here, that he’d come here for her. But at the last second, her fear won out over the wanting, and she stayed where she was.

In the end, it didn’t matter. Gavriel came forward again until he was only a few steps away. “I know you told me to go, but I couldn’t stay away.’”

Asterin dropped her head as shame and guilt filled her. “I’m sor-”

“No,” he interrupted. “You have nothing to be sorry for Asterin. Nothing.” When she raised her head, he was right in front of her. “I know this is frightening and difficult for you because it is for me too.” 

She began to shake her head, ready to disagree but… she had no argument. He was right and had read her like a book from day one.  

”I’ve been afraid to risk my heart again, too caught up in my past. Too stupid to see that I was repeating it, not learning from it. It wasn’t because of anything you’ve said or done. _Nothing_ about you scares me, Asterin.”

There was so much more beneath those words. Her pain was part of her and always would be. But it wasn’t all of her. He’d seen it and more. He’d seen it all and yet, here he was. 

“Right before she brought me here, Manon asked me one other question,” Gavriel said, so quietly that she wouldn’t have heard him if he wasn’t so near. His eyes drifted across her face, lingering on her lips. “She asked…” He paused, suddenly unsure of whether he should go on. “She asked if I am in love with you,” he finally said. His body hummed with tension, waiting for her to react. 

She had not moved since his arrival. Gavriel had taken every step to bring them this close. He’d come to her, chosen her, because he wanted her. In that instant, she finally admitted to herself that she wanted him, and would choose him too.

Asterin closed the short distance still hovering between them, tilting her head up to look into his eyes. They widened slightly when she placed her palm on his chest. “And what was your answer?”

Gavriel smiled as he lifted her hand to his mouth, kissed it, and then held it to his cheek. “You haven’t guessed yet?” he teased.

She knew it was silly, but some part of her needed to hear it. He’d shown her, and in most ways that was more important than words. But the words mattered too. Especially to someone who hadn’t heard them spoken in such a long time. 

As if he read all of that from her face, he grew serious. “I love you Asterin. You don’t have to answer. I underst-”

She clutched his shirt and pulled him down into a kiss.

How many times had she imagined what he would taste like? Stared at his mouth, trying to decide if it might be as soft and delicious as it looked? Asterin didn’t know. All of that became lost in the wonderment of his tongue running across her lips, her tongue sliding carefully along his sharp-ridged canines, the feel of his hand sliding up her back to her neck so he could bury his fingers in her hair and pull her closer into him, his scent of warm sage and sweet berries… 

The shock as something deep inside her flickered to life and caught, sending a searing heat throughout her body.

Breaking apart to gasp for air, Gavriel rested his forehead on hers, still holding her, his strong hands roaming up and down her back. “And what is your answer, Blackbeak?” he asked, his voice a passionate growl that rumbled through her. 

The fire that he’d lit in her flashed hot and wild, and Asterin arched against him. “You haven’t guessed?” she purred. He smirked, nipping her bottom lip. After another lengthy kiss, she pulled away so she could look at him. 

The fear from earlier was still there. But as she gazed into his honey brown eyes, she felt… more. There were other thoughts and feelings tempering it now. Manon’s insistence that she deserved to be happy, that Ethan would want that for her. The love she felt for her lost hunter and Queen sparked her courage. And then she thought of Seren, who’d been there and gone like a shooting star… A blinding brightness in a dark sky. The immense love she felt for her witchling gave her the final push of strength to overcome her fear. 

“I love you, too,” she whispered, placing her palm on his cheek.

An ecstatic grin spread across Gavriel’s face and he bent and embraced her. Lifting her feet off the ground, he spun them around and laughed. Letting herself revel in his warmth and love, in her own happiness, Asterin held on to him tightly and whooped in pure joy.


	32. Epilogue 3 - Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, apologies for taking so long to get this chapter done. It wasn’t planned but I got inspired and wanted to use this to tie up a few loose ends - Annabee and Fallon, the Crochan curse (which I was deliberately avoiding), and just some general politics stuff that I wanted to keep out of the final parts (so I can focus on fluff).
> 
> Second, since it’s been a while, here are a few reminders. My OCs are Aven (Manon’s Crochan grandmother, daughter of Queen Rhiannon and Brannon), Annabee (Manon’s Crochan niece, daughter of HoF Rhiannon), and Liam (Manon’s Crochan father). In the Asterin side story, Manon and Nesryn rescued a few hundred people who were enslaved by Erawan in Rifthold. Some witch stuff I made up - witches have bonds including a mate bond (similar to but different than a fae bond), Crochans also have iron (I don’t think this was stated either way in the books but please let me know if I’m wrong).
> 
> Third, this is really long.

##  _“Blood to blood and soul to soul, together this was done,_ _and only together it can be undone. Be the bridge, be the light. When iron melts, when flowers spring from fields of blood - let the land be witness, and return home.”_

 

The curse was carved into Manon’s brain. Words spoken by Rhiannon Crochan at the end of the Witch Wars formed her earliest memory. They’d been whispered in hushed voices throughout Blackbeak Keep, repeated by her nursemaid at bedtime, screamed in her face by the matron during punishments. 

“You will be the one to break the curse,” the matron had always said. “We will be queens.” 

Manon never doubted that the ‘we’ was all part of the manipulation. And though she’d always played along, though she knew there was no path for her other than heir to matron, cursebreaker to queen… A small part of her had been wary. Fear was something she would not have recognized, let alone acknowledged, in her past life. But things had changed. 

Looking back now, she could admit that what she’d felt was most definitely fear. Leading a coven of trusted witches, or even a clan of traitors was one thing. Being the hope of your entire kind? Their savior? Manon understood that she’d never really thought it would happen. She’d had no hope that the curse would be ever broken.

But things had changed.

* * *

##  _Blood to blood and soul to soul, together this was done_

 

They’d been at it outside the walls for weeks with no end in sight. Until now. Now, with the Ironteeth at her gates, her witches inside dead or dying, Rhiannon Crochan had no choice. She’d already sent as many into hiding as possible, relieved that they’d escaped without notice. But that relief was tempered with grief at the losses she’d sustained. Aven was the only one of her witchlings to make it out. The Blackbeak Matron had tortured her lover before leaving him to die, impaled on her war caravan. There was no one left to stand with her.

But Rhiannon had foreseen all of this, and she’d prepared.

After holding the gates for three days, after most of the witches who remained in the city had been taken by the Darkness and would no longer suffer at the hands of their brutal cousins, Rhiannon strode outside of her city. The moment the sun broke over the horizon, light rippled across the plain, casting the land in a red glow. When the full blaze of the sun revealed the truth before her, the ground drenched in the blood of witches, blood that never should have been shed, Rhiannon paused.

Shutting her eyes, she prayed to the Three-Faced Goddess. She didn’t ask for salvation. She knew she would die here. Instead, she sought reassurance that the queens who were promised would indeed stand victorious against an old evil that would one day be resurrected. One that would be far worse than what she faced today. 

A female figure, vaguely formed and difficult to see, appeared in the blackness. A voice, calm and commanding, sounded in her head. 

_There are no guarantees Crochan Queen. A witchling born of love will be shackled by hate. A child born to lead will shun her crown. Only when they accept their true natures, only when evil is vanquished, only when many become one, can this kingdom grow again. So. I give you no promises. But I can give you hope._

She jerked awake from the vision and her eyes burned from the brilliant sunlight.

Baba Yellowlegs strolled towards her with the other two matrons following closely behind, their iron nails rusty and red with blood.

Rhiannon took a slow, deep breath. 

_Hope_. 

She _was_ hopeful that somehow, at some time, when things had changed, this wrong would be righted. The witch clans of the Wastes would be made whole.

In the meantime though, she cocked her head and watched her corrupted cousins approach. Blood from all three must be spilled for this curse to work. Ironteeth blood combined with all of hers. With a taunting smirk, she slid her iron nails free and sent a final devotion to her Three-Faced Goddess. 

Rhiannon Crochan was ready to lay down her life in the hope of a future peace, but she’d be damned if she didn’t take one or two of them with her. 

 

* * *

##  _only together it can be undone_  

 

“I refuse to pose.”

With a half smile, Liam said, “Too late. You already are.” His head dipped low but his eyes kept moving between her and the paper as he added shading around the figure.

“I’m serious. If you don’t stop, I’ll give you something to draw,” Lothian said, flashing a dangerous metal smile. The words held some bite to them, but only due to the accompanying teeth. Her affection outweighed any annoyance. She sighed and went back to letting out the waist of a pair of pants.

With each scratch and slide on his paper, her lips curved upwards. Try as she might, he was impossible to ignore. The next time she glanced at him, he was just watching her, his charcoal smudged hand still.

“Don’t move,” he said.

She knew Liam, and that tone. It only came out when he’d spied the exact moment he wanted to capture. Lothian sat still but she couldn’t stop the pleased expression that crept over her face. Gods she felt like a mindless witchling just let loose into the world. “I must look like a fool,” she said before going back to her sewing. 

His warm laugh made her look up again, and as he continued with the sketch, she simply stared. Lothian often lost herself in the sight of him - his raven black hair, golden brown eyes framed by heavy dark lashes, the shadow of a beard covering his strong jaw. 

She loved watching his hand glide across paper, transferring everything he saw onto a blank page. Whatever emotion he spied, whatever story he wanted to create, it was conveyed with little more than some lines and curves and smudges. She’d watched him draw so often, and he made it look so easy, that she’d fallen under the false impression that it _was_ “little more than” a few strokes of charcoal. Liam was immensely talented, but that talent required patience and lots of practice. Or so he’d told her. Art was not valued in the Blackbeak Keep, and the only creativity that was rewarded involved designing new, more lethal weaponry. 

The reminder of what she should be doing right now, what her mother thought she was doing, made her stomach churn. If anyone knew the Blackbeak heir was playing house with a Crochan prince… Worse, that she was carrying his witchling… 

Nothing in Lothian’s wildest nightmares would come close to the punishment for such a crime. 

A decision would soon need to be made however. She’d been gone from Blackbeak Keep for too long already, though there were still some excuses available to her if she chose to return. The thought was madness and Liam would never understand. Lothian knew her mother would never stop looking for her, not unless her dead body was thrown at the Matron’s feet. So… She could risk everything and live a life always fearful and on the run, or she could risk everything and return to her clan. Then, she could try to improve things from the inside. Either way, she was determined to raise her witchling to become a queen. She was created in love, and Lothian would make sure she knew it.

Her mother’s voice whispered doubts in her ear and her surety began to ebb. Just as the dark fear was about to settle in, she felt a kick from within. 

“Ooh,” she said, as another one struck. 

Liam looked up to see her hand resting on her large belly and he was by her side in an instant, heavy brows low in concern. She laughed and put his hand atop hers. “It’s alright. She’s just kicking.”

Their witchling had done this before, often enough that Lothian was growing used to it, but it hadn’t happened when Liam was there. The amazement and sheer joy that radiated from him as he felt his witchling move… Even without their bond, she would have been overwhelmed by his emotion. She knew about his daughter Rhiannon, now grown, and the wife he’d lost. Enough time had passed though that this all seemed new to him. 

After another kick, the witchling turned over inside her. Lothian groaned and stood in the hopes of relieving the discomfort. Instantly, Liam was at her side, leading her into their bedroom. 

“It’s a good thing I was almost finished with my sketch. Unless you’d like to pose for me here?” he teased, helping her ease back onto the bed. Her belly now made even simple movements like laying down tricky.

She replied with an exasperated sigh, making him laugh. When she was settled, he left and returned with tea. As she sipped, he sat, pulling her feet into his lap to massage them.

“This isn’t normal you know,” she said, resting her head back and watching him. He’d started to hum a slow, soft melody.

Liam stopped and looked up, bemused.

Lothian waved her hand around them. “This. You spoiling me.”

With a crooked smile, he went back to rubbing her feet. “Who says this isn’t normal? I say we make our own normal.”

Knowing she would soon nod off, Lothian sat her cup down and closed her eyes. She quickly lost herself in a world made up only of his soothing voice and the strength of his hands. In that world, this kind of thing _was_ perfectly normal. A mother-to-be being comforted by her mate. They would live together and raise their witchling in love and happiness.

But… This wasn’t normal. Not for her. And the thought that she would need to make a decision gnawed at her again. The more she considered it, the more it seemed to grow clearer in her mind. Stay and raise their witchling together. Stay and be hunted. Until Liam was killed. Until their Manon was killed. Or she could return to her clan, lie about the identity of Manon’s father, and wait for her witchling to come of age. Maybe then, they’d stand a better chance, not just of surviving. If she was certain of anything, it was that Manon would be the one to change things for the better. 

_Manon must survive_ , she thought as she sank into sleep. _That’s all that matters. Our greatest wish, our hope for peace.  
_

 

* * *

 

Annabee stood in the center of her room and turned in a slow circle. All of the cages for injured and orphaned animals had been emptied long ago. As she dragged a fingernail through a thick layer of dust, she realized she’d need to clean one for transporting her blind owl. Her eyes turned to artwork she’d affixed to the walls. Some of them were curling at the edges. Only a few weeks had passed since the end of the war, less than a year since the Ironteeth had come into her life and she’d left the Maze. It felt longer. She’d expected the time away from here would make this part easy. But the packing was going slowly, each book or stick of pigment calling back memories, demanding her attention. 

The wooden box she held was growing heavy, and she decided the packing could wait a bit longer. This was something she couldn’t just toss into a crate. Her fingers traced the intricate design carved into the lid. Her father’s work. Annabee’s mother had always told her she got her artistry from her father and grandfather, as it had skipped over Rhiannon completely.

She felt rather than heard Fallon come into her room. Turning, Annabee was struck by how beautiful the Blackbeak witch was, her loose, dark hair and green eyes so vibrant against her pale skin. She smiled briefly, considering how opposite they were in coloring. Her own white hair, tightly braided, served as a stark contrast to her dark brown skin. 

“Do you mind some company?” Fallon asked.

Annabee knew her question was meant to break the spell of her stare. Despite all they’d been through, all of the quiet moments they’d shared, Fallon still grew shy when Annabee looked at her like that.  

“Actually, you have perfect timing,” Annabee said, motioning for Fallon to join her. They both sat, cross-legged, the box placed between them. “My mother gave me these before she left.” Her mouth lifted in a slight smile, more to reassure herself than Fallon. It was still hard to talk about how her mother had sacrificed her life to help push Manon on her path. She’d witnessed so much carnage in the war that, though she would always wish her mother were still alive, she felt like she was closer to understanding her choice. The contents of the box helped.

Opening it, she pulled out a small stack of letters. Some were older, yellowed and wrinkled, some newer, though still not in pristine condition. Annabee passed a few to Fallon. “Those are letters from my grandfather to my mother. When she was young and he was traveling in search of Manon. These,” she held the whiter pages, “were also written to my mother. From my father when he was courting her.”

“I thought your parents were mates,” Fallon said, sifting through the letters but not opening them.

Annabee spread them out and selected a few that were her favorites. “They were. But he was from a remote outpost of Crochans who lived further south. They met when he accompanied his parents here on a trade visit. They didn’t get along very well at first. The Council and his father held different ideas about how to deal with the Ironteeth threat.” Fallon dropped her eyes but Annabee reached over and lifted her chin. “Things have changed my love.” She kissed Fallon gently, not leaning away until she felt those full lips turn upwards into a smile. 

“So,” she continued, satisfied by the fire she’d lit in Fallon’s green eyes, “they were… Well, they weren’t very friendly towards each other. My mother could be easily provoked. After he returned home, he began writing her letters. Apparently, he enjoyed provoking her. The next time they met, they felt the cariad bond. And the rest is history,” she finished. 

Thankfully, Fallon already knew why the story ended so quickly, why she didn’t want to continue when things ended so sadly for them. Losing a mate was a horror Annabee hoped to never experience. Fallon took her hand and ran a finger over her knuckles. It was a gesture that had taken the Blackbeak a long time to feel comfortable offering. 

Without looking at her, Fallon asked, “So, the cariad bond takes effect quickly?”

So many layers were buried under that question. Was a couple without the bond somehow _less than_? What if one or both of them met their mate in the future? What if…

“It’s different for everyone who experiences it,” Annabee replied. “It’s rare though, Fallon.” Green eyes met her brown ones for a long moment. “And I don’t think it should hold more importance than love without a bond. Dorian told me once that it only heightened what he already felt for Manon. It didn’t create it. Or dictate how they felt. It made it more intense.” She swallowed, unsure if she should admit what she was thinking, worried it would make Fallon uncomfortable.

“What? Tell me.”

Annabee smiled. Even without the benefits of the bond, Fallon could read her like a book.

“If I felt more love for you than I do now, I don’t know how I’d survive it.”

Fallon leaned across the box and the letters, until they were inches apart, and her fingers brushed down Annabee’s cheek and neck. “So.” Fallon sounded breathless as she said, “This is normal then. This is how you’re supposed to feel when you’re in love. Like sometimes I can’t breathe when I’m with you. Or all I want is to be near you.”

Annabee was hypnotized by the sight before her. Luscious red lips, sparkling green eyes, all framed by long, dark curls. 

Fallon grabbed her by the shirt and pulled her close. When their lips met, a mix of tongues and nipping teeth, Annabee released a slow, soft moan. Despite her unassuming demeanor, when they were together like this, Fallon knew what she wanted and never hesitated to ask for it. It was one of many contradictions that Annabee loved about her. 

Needing to be closer, to have no distance between them, Fallon pulled again so that Annabee straddled her lap. Their hands had become lost in hair and under shirts and still, their lips had not parted. 

Out of nowhere, the owl hooted from his corner, the sound echoing loudly around the stone walls. Fallon jerked back, as if someone had walked in on them doing more than kissing. Annabee gave the old bird a nasty look but Fallon laughed.

If she hadn’t known it already, Annabee felt the rightness in the moment. Although leaving her home and her people would be hard, she was certain in her decision - accepting a place with Manon and the Thirteen. The thought of caring for their wyverns, maybe having one of her own, thrilled her. Helping guard Manon and Dorian? Serving as a link to the Crochans? Those were more daunting, but she always relished a challenge. 

The thought that she could spend her life with the witch in front of her?

Bond or no bond, Fallon Blackbeak was her home now, and there was nowhere else she’d rather be. 

 

* * *

 

##  _Be the bridge, be the light._

 

Manon didn’t know how Dorian could remain so calm, so unflappable amidst all of these simpering fools. The recent end of the war left most of the Adarlan nobles scheming for more power and control over their young king. Fighting the urge to end this posturing with force, Manon kept her eyes fixed on the men, noting every twitch, every reaction to Dorian’s words. This was all necessary, but it didn’t mean she had to like it. 

“Your Majesty.” 

The words drew her attention, for no other reason than their unabashed flattery. Dorian gave his full, stone-faced attention to the lord, and Manon bit back a smile. She considered sending him some inappropriate image through their bond, but restrained herself. 

“It sounds as if you plan to abolish the nobility, the monarchy. Surely, we have misheard you.”

Manon couldn’t remember this one’s name, though she knew his large holdings bordered Fenharrow. He had a reputation for being fair, if not overly generous, and had been one of several lords who’d stood against Erawan right after Dorian’s escape. He hadn’t stood for long, but the effort was noticeable, especially when compared to others. 

“You are mistaken, Lord Warren.” Warren let out an audible sigh of relief. And then Dorian continued, “I’m not abolishing the monarchy. However the role of the nobility will be greatly diminished. Consider this more of a restructuring.”

The room exploded into gasps and cries of outrage. There was even a shout of “Well I never!” which prompted a shared look among the Thirteen. This group of preening peacocks and mindless sheep… But there were a few predators hiding in the mix. 

Several of the lords present had thrown their support behind Erawan almost immediately, too quickly to be excused as coercion. And while they claimed they were threatened and cajoled into supplying men and gold for Erawan’s forces, they had not suffered. They had not lost anything. Their people had suffered, their people had lost everything. 

“The transition will take time gentlemen,” Dorian went on, adding a touch of venom to that last word, as very few of them qualified. “I have no plan to step down as King. So, there will in fact be a monarchy. And I will play a key role in governing. However,” he looked towards Manon and smiled. She felt the men tense, felt their open disapproval of her presence. Warren eyed her suspiciously. “I was quite taken by the council system the Crochans use. The witches have much to teach us I think.” Turning back to the lords, he said, “I plan to rebuild Adarlan into a more equitable country. And one of the ways I will do that is by changing how it’s governed.” 

While most of the nobles looked too stunned to speak, the few who’d allied with Erawan shared significant looks between them. 

“We will begin by confiscating the holdings of Lords Gideon, Arris, Charnon, and Lemos,” Dorian said. 

“What?! How dare you?!” cried Lord Charnon.

Gideon and Lemos had risen from their chairs and looked as if they were about to draw their swords. Pity for them they’d had to surrender all weapons before the meeting. Manon strolled over from where she’d been standing along the wall and the men had the good sense to sit back down. 

Lord Arris hadn’t moved. With an icy confidence, he said, “You will not get away with this.”

“Why?” Manon asked. “Because you were planning to assassinate him?”

The four men stared, wide-eyed and growing pale. Before any of them could speak, Lord Arris stood and faced her. “You have no proof, witch.” He practically spat the words. Part of her longed to rip out his throat, more for his schemes to kill Dorian than anything he said now. But Dorian had a plan, and this aspect, her role as guard and nothing more, had been her idea.

Arris wasn’t done. “Even if you did, your word means nothing here. _You_ are nothing. Except something to warm the royal bed at night. It’s shameful that our king enjoys the company of a monst-” 

With no warning, Lord Arris flew across the room and slammed into the rough stone wall. Invisible hands held him immobile several inches off the floor. Eyes rolling madly, he tried to speak and found himself unable to make a noise.

Without so much as a glance in her direction, Dorian rose and walked towards Arris, trailing frost with every footstep. The nobles muttered in fear, its tang drenching the air so thickly that Manon thought she might gag.

When he reached the dangling man, Dorian said, “You are wrong on many fronts Lord Arris. We do have proof. Quite a lot of it. And her word…” His voice deepened into a growl. “Her word means _everything_.” Dorian leaned in close so other human ears couldn’t hear.  “And she is not the monster. I am. You will do well to remember that.”

Arris was thrown against the adjacent wall, flying so quickly, the others barely registered the movement. When Dorian released his magical hold, the man slumped onto the floor, unconscious. 

Manon sent a question through their bond only to find the connection blocked. Dorian still had his back to the men, trying to calm down and leash his magic. Quietly, he ordered Asterin to take the traitorous lords prisoner and escort them to the dungeons. Once they’d been removed, the remainder of the Thirteen drifted into the background, eyes alight with the promise of retribution if any move was made against Manon or Dorian. 

After regaining control, Dorian faced them, a dark edge to his voice. “As I was saying, this transition will take time. I do not intend to rob you blind. However, there will be adjustments to your taxes. Taxes that will not be coming from your subjects. Rather, they will be going to them. In the form of education and centers for healing, among other things. If you do not approve, you are all free to relocate to another kingdom more to your liking. The crown will compensate you fairly for your lands. Should you choose to stay, you will be offered a place on either the main council, or a lesser committee.” He paused before emphasizing, “Based on your knowledge and skills, not your family tree or the amount of money you were able to hoard while Adarlan was destroyed.” He looked each one in the eye as he said, “Fair warning, I intend to offer council seats to anyone who calls Adarlan home. Men, women, witches, fae, native born and immigrant. If that offends your traditional sensibilities, you should consider the offer to move. You are dismissed.”

No one moved for several moments. 

Too busy staring at Dorian and pushing against their bond, Manon forgot to watch the men and gauge their reactions. But Dorian looked only at his nobles, refusing to acknowledge her.

Tearing her eyes from Dorian, she noticed Lord Warren looking back and forth between them. Manon couldn’t read the expression on his face, and before she could begin to understand it, the man stood stiffly, then bowed to Dorian. “Your Majesty.” The flattery from before remained, with a new harshness she couldn’t decipher. Warren turned towards Manon, and though he did not address her, he dipped his head. It was so quick, she was sure no one else had seen it. 

When he made his way to the door, the others began to rise. Every lord bowed to Dorian before they left, though some did it begrudgingly. It didn’t matter. The wolves had been exposed and taken away. What remained were either harmless sycophants who could be easily manipulated, or men who could be reasoned with and convinced to work for the betterment of the country. 

As the last man exited, Manon signaled for her witches to leave as well. Dorian still had not looked at her. When she stood before him, she took his hands in hers, rubbing the tension out of them. 

“I’m sorry for…” He shook his head. 

“Look at me.” He finally did and she saw the shame and regret she’d feared would be there.

“We had a plan,” he said. “Be forceful without using force, no threatening them with magic. Gain control over the skeptics, arrest the conspirators. Plant the seed for eventually forming a joint kingdom.” Manon smiled as he listed off their goals for this meeting like a schoolboy being tested by his tutor. “And definitely do not act like some territorial fool when my mate is insulted.”

She stepped closer and adjusted his collar. “While I can certainly take care of myself, I don’t mind seeing you come to my defense every now and then, Princeling.”

Dorian pulled her into a hug and kissed her cheek. “Then maybe I’m not sorry,” he admitted with a quick grin. It was gone when he continued, “Did I screw it all up then?”

Manon stepped away, thinking over how the lords had reacted and how much opposition they might have to deal with. Before she could say anything, Philippa entered the hall with Asterin.

“Your Majesties,” Philippa said with a bow. Asterin copied her movement adding a saucy flourish of her hand. 

Manon almost laughed as Dorian glared. “Did we have something else scheduled today?” he asked Philippa.

“No but I thought you would like to meet someone.” The old woman was grinning from ear to ear, as was Asterin, all previous sarcasm gone.

When she recognized the woman and girl walking towards them, with a man she didn’t know, Manon forgot all about the worries sparked by the previous hours.

“I’m so glad to see you!” She bent down to catch the girl running towards her. 

She’d seen Poppy and her mother Celie a few times since rescuing them from a slave warehouse in Rifthold. Until now, she hadn’t known if they’d survived the war, let alone where they’d ended up. Celie’s husband, a magic wielder, had been taken by Erawan and possessed by the valg. But thanks to the witch mirrors and the powers of Yrene and her healers, most of those enslaved men had been freed. And most of them still suffered from the torment they’d endured, one reason of many why the healers of the Southern Continent remained in Erilea, spreading out to help as many as they could. 

It seemed as though Poppy’s father had been one of those saved. Manon felt overcome with emotion when the girl pulled her over to introduce him. She said nothing as he bowed to both her and Dorian, then thanked them profusely for all they’d done for him and his family. His eyes were still haunted by what had happened, but it paled in comparison to the love he felt for his wife and daughter. 

Dorian glanced over at her and took her hand. _You did this_ , he said through their bond. _You saved them_. 

Manon felt the moisture begin to pool in her eyes and quickly looked away from the scene in front of her - Asterin promising to teach Poppy how to shoot a bow, Hugo and Celie telling Philippa and Dorian of their struggle to find a home here in Anielle. After being named the temporary capital until Rifthold could be rebuilt, people had flooded here, making space hard to find.

As she blinked away the tears, her attention was drawn to a figure standing in the main entrance. She silently told Dorian she’d be back and made her way to Lord Warren, the mask from moments before settling easily onto her face.

He must have expected her to speak, for when she merely stared at him, he became fidgety. Not afraid though. She felt his caution, but no fear. When he began to fumble for some title with which to address her, Manon sighed and asked, “What?”

“Uh… I came back…” he stumbled. Manon waited silently until he went on. “I would appreciate if you could relay a message to His Majesty?” Warren’s eyes flicked back and forth between her and the Anders family. 

She wondered how much he had already seen.

Warren cleared his throat and his voice took on the same even quality as when he’d addressed Dorian earlier. She recognized it now - respect, not disdain. “Please tell him there are many in his court who are interested in the path he wishes to take in rebuilding Adarlan. The war changed many things, and there is some strong support for his reforms.”

“But?” Manon asked, sensing his hesitation.

Warren winced slightly but he held her gaze. “But. There are many who would feel better about things if there was an heir to secure the throne.”

Now she understood some of the looks she’d received during the meeting. While they all knew she and Dorian shared a bed, they were unaware of everything beyond that - their bond, their hopes for a shared future, possibly even a joined kingdom. Some may put up with their king’s behavior for a while, but not when their country was in such a fragile state.

“Of course,” she replied, an angry shame rising within her stomach. She didn’t know why it had bubbled up. The opinions of these humans were beneath her. And yet… she’d hoped. She’d hoped for some sign of tolerance if not outright acceptance. Forcing her voice to remain devoid of any emotion, she said, “And of course, you’d prefer the heir come from a human queen.”

Again, Warren’s attention moved between her and the others still talking at the far end of the room. Finally, he said, “I would prefer a queen who is willing to protect this country and see its people thrive. The color of her blood makes no difference to me.”

The silence that overtook Manon now was that of pure shock, not intimidation.  

With a smile, and a bow, Warren said, “Forgive the interruption. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

He was gone before she could speak. 

 

* * *

 

##  _When iron melts_

 

Manon jerked awake, pulling Dorian from his own slumber.

“Sorry,” she rasped.

Dorian brushed aside the apology. “Nightmare?” The unnecessary question had become a dark joke between them, one that had yet to grow old. Somehow, it still elicited a smile from the one who’d been afflicted.

Prior to the start of the war, they’d both been in a state of… not dreamlessness exactly. But they’d enjoyed a brief respite from some of their worst nightmares. During and after the war, things had changed, reverting back to how it had been before. And now, they endured the addition of new horrors from battle; massive armies smashing together on already bloodied fields, bodies mangled and rotting. Human, fae, witch, wyvern, and ruk. By some blessing of the Three Faced Goddess, all of the remaining Thirteen had survived, though not without scars both visible and hidden. But overall, the losses had been difficult to comprehend. 

A few months had passed since Erawan had been obliterated and Maeve sent back to whatever dark hell had spawned her, and Manon still had trouble processing it sometimes. The aerial units had been hit hard, having to fight not just traitorous witches and ilken, but newly made terrors from Erawan’s underground laboratories. Giant creatures immune to most magic and designed to shred wings of feather and skin. The learning curve for defending against them had been steep, and costly. They were lucky that Erawan had never witnessed anything like Manon’s yielding ability, and as with most of his monsters, they could do nothing against pure, raw magic. She and Dorian had come close to burn out on many occasions, as had others. 

Despite the odds against them, they had won. Only to be left with new obstacles, the heavy burdens of rebuilding and healing their peoples. 

“What was this one about?” Dorian asked, spreading his arms for her to lie down in them. She did and instantly felt a little better.

“Something new actually.” Manon smiled against his shoulder as he stroked her hair. 

“Oh good,” he teased. “A new nightmare to add to our collection. It’s been a while.” 

“Indeed,” she agreed, shifting to sit up against the headboard. Sensing her mood, Dorian joined her and waited patiently for her to continue. “It was odd. More like a vision than a dream. Or… a warning perhaps.”

Brows furrowed, he asked, “Was it a vision?”

Manon didn’t think so. She certainly hoped it wasn’t, at least not one that might be realized. She’d been quiet for several moments before she remembered she hadn’t answered his question. Instead of trying to describe it, she sent her dream through the bond so he could see it for himself. 

_Hushed, threatening voices rustled through the crowd of witches gathered in the underground meeting space. Crochan elders were trying to regain control before things completely fell apart, but it was only a matter of time before they’d fail.  
_

_Manon scanned the cavern, and though it was poorly lit, she could see the faces. She watched, unable to move or speak, as disgruntled Ironteeth turned their angry words on Crochans. The small contingent of Yellowlegs, all that remained of their clan, goaded Blackbeaks and Bluebloods, pushing them to rail against the rules being forced upon them. Rules and laws imposed by Crochans, and the Ironteeth who’d seemingly abandoned their clan to ally with their ancient enemy.  
_

_Any truce and friendship gained during the war was about to disappear forever._

_And Manon was frozen solid, her mouth unable to form words, her arms unable to draw a weapon. She was there, yet not there, and could only watch as the flame of hatred caught and screams of rage echoed against the rock walls. The clanging crash of swords soon followed.  
_

_She watched as the Thirteen formed around Aven and the other Crochan elders only to be overrun by the sheer force of bodies and blades as the Ironteeth attacked. She watched as witchlings ran screaming into tunnels, as blasts of Crochan magic knocked swaths of Ironteeth unconscious.  
_

_It was a bloodbath that neither side would survive._

_Manon stopped her silent screams when she caught sight of her own face peering at her from across the cave.  
_

_Queen Rhiannon Crochan. She was not watching the carnage below, but rather, her eyes were trained solely on her great-granddaughter. Manon felt a breath of calm shift through her, and where she’d expected to find grief and  despair, Rhiannon’s face was peaceful. Hopeful. As if… as if none of this was real… Yet.  
_

“Gods,” Dorian gasped.

“I shouldn’t have shown it to you,” she said, worried it would only add to his own bad dreams.

“No, no.” He ran a hand through his hair and down his face, as if wiping away the memory of it. “It’s just hard seeing…” He dipped his head to look her in the eyes. “My nightmares usually don’t include Aven and Asterin and all the others,” he admitted. 

Manon attempted a smile but couldn’t manage it. She was used to seeing her loved ones dead or dying in her dreams. 

“What caused it?” Dorian asked. He had taken on the calm, thoughtful air that always lessened her agitation, always made her feel safe. “What happened to turn them against each other?”

“Old wounds were reopened, old suspicions preyed upon.” She eyed him meaningfully. “The Crochans wanted me as their queen but the Ironteeth refused.”

Dorian seemed surprised by that and she agreed, thinking the opposite would have been more likely. She hadn’t spent her life hunting down Ironteeth after all. 

“Do you _want_ to be their queen?” he asked quietly. 

This was a question no one had ever asked before. 

_I thought so._

Before he could repeat his question, she said, “Yes, if it brings peace to our clans. But if it only brings conflict…” She trailed off. “Aven said I was their Queen who was promised, but… After seeing that, I’m not so sure.” 

 

* * *

 

Manon arrived at Aven’s door just before dawn. Now that the Crochans were no longer confined to their underground labyrinth, the Maze, Aven could see just how dark it still was outside when she greeted her granddaughter. She wasn’t a late riser, but she did prefer to get up after the sun had risen. Seeing the urgent bounce to Manon’s steps, Aven bit back her annoyance and ushered Manon into her kitchen where she started a pot of tea.

As Manon relayed her nightmare, Aven began to grow uneasy. Her granddaughter clearly felt this was a prophetic vision, a likelihood instead of a possibility. Semantics maybe, but still an important distinction. No matter how she tried though, she couldn’t change Manon’s mind. She was insistent on refusing to rule over the witches. 

“And what does Dorian think of this?” she asked, getting an annoyed look in reply. “I mean, what did he say about the dream?”

“He wouldn’t say it but I think he thought I was overreacting.”

Aven eyed her doubtfully. “Well, I think it sounds like you are just now fully realizing what a large burden has been placed on your shoulders.” Manon said nothing. “This _has_ been forced upon you, and whether you will make a good queen or not, that’s not fair.”

“I’m not afraid,” Manon protested. 

“Aren’t you? I sure as hell would be. Remember, I turned the throne down for centuries,” Aven said with a hard laugh. “It’s a thankless position filled with endless days of meetings and paper work and complaints, having to play nice to people you want to throttle…”

Manon laughed. “You’re doing a great job of making me feel better.”

Aven reached across the table and took her hand. “I wouldn’t wish a crown on anyone. But, my mother was a wonderful queen. And you would be a wonderful queen as well. I think the fact you are hesitant only reinforces what a good leader you would be.“

 

* * *

 

Manon had remained unconvinced, too full of doubt and worry. But Aven had managed to get her to agree to consult the Council and others from the Ironteeth clans before doing anything rash. So, days later, they met with the Crochan elders, Petrah Blueblood, and a small group of Blackbeaks.

A young Yellowlegs witch named Kalla, who had been named their Matron after the war, was also present. Unwilling to repeat the past and decimate an entire clan, the witches who’d united against Erawan had all agreed to let the Yellowlegs survive. The terms of surrender were harsh and the clan was not given equal footing, but it was preferable to death for those who’d remained. 

When she announced her decision to turn down the throne, Manon didn’t mention her dream. Instead, she made her case based on the success of the Council and the need to give each clan some form of representation.

“That’s the best way to remain unified,” Manon argued. 

As the discussion grew more animated, Manon realized Petrah had stayed silent throughout the meeting. When she finally spoke, everyone quieted down.

“Your concerns are valid, Manon. We must proceed with caution. And I agree that the Council has a key role to play in our future. A council that represents all of us,” she said, glancing at Kalla. Manon’s face brightened at what she thought was agreement.

Petrah saw it and gave her an apologetic look. “But I think you underestimate your sisters. The war changed many things for us, not only because we had to come together against a common enemy. We learned that the histories told to us since birth were lies. We need someone to help us rebuild. Not just the land,” she said, waving her hand in the far off direction of the Wastes. “We have been left adrift, our world upended. If we are to survive as one, we need someone with the vision to see it done.”

Manon sighed, glancing to Aven, then Asterin, whose face screamed _I told you so._ The Crochans were nodding emphatically and even the Yellowlegs Matron was in agreement.

“But,” Petrah said, regaining their attention, “it should not be forced upon you. Would you be willing to put this before all four clans? Before you decide about abdication?”

Doubtfully, an elder asked, “A vote for queen?”

“Not a vote. A survey of opinion. So Manon can make an informed decision.” 

Manon’s heart sank as she watched everyone agree and begin to plan the gathering. Her nightmare vision was a step closer to reality. 

Several days later, standing on a long, flat ledge within the largest cavern in the Maze, Manon stared out over a sea of witches, who listened intently to whomever was speaking. Aven grabbed her trembling hand and Manon’s fear ebbed. The scene before her was so familiar, so much like her dream that she thought she’d be sick. As Petrah, then Kalla, then a Crochan elder each spoke, their words rushed past her, without meaning. A collective sound from the crowd brought her around and she realized everyone was now watching her. 

She stepped forward, ready to speak, when someone in the crowd shouted, “The queen who was promised!”

Manon held her breath, waiting for the backlash to begin, the fights to break out, the blood to spill. Instead, the call was taken up and repeated throughout the cave. It quickly became a deafening roar as witches from all clans joined in. She looked at Petrah, radiating an air of calm satisfaction. And something else…

“You knew this would happen?” Manon asked. “You had a vision?”

The Blueblood smiled. “No, there was no vision. Just hope that we would return to being sisters. We are more similar than not. We all have the same iron, share one blood. We need one queen, Manon.” She nodded to the still boisterous crowd. “We _want_ one queen. Will you lead us?”

Manon turned around, searching for Aven and finally spotted her talking to some of the Thirteen. As if sensing the attention, her grandmother looked at her and smiled. It was so full of love and hope, Manon’s breathing hitched. Aven nodded her head in encouragement.

Standing before the witches, all one, Crochan and Ironteeth combined, Manon quieted them down and accepted the heavy, but extraordinary gift they bestowed upon her. As one, the entire group bowed their heads and touched their brows in deference to their new queen.

 

* * *

 

##  _when flowers spring from fields of blood - let the land be witness, and return home_

 

“Did Rhiannon know? When she made the curse? That all of these things would need to fall into place?”

A fragile yet lasting peace between the witch clans, forged against a common enemy. A dangerous victory over darkness and evil led by human, fae, and witch joined together. A new generation of leaders anxious for a brighter future. 

Aven smiled. “Well, she certainly hoped they would.” She turned to look at her granddaughter, pride swelling inside her. “She knew about Erawan and Elena’s mistake of course _._ She’d seen the coming witch war, and knew its true cause.” Aven paused for a moment to think. “She was suspicious of Maeve but I don’t think anyone had a clue about her real identity. My mother knew she was up to no good though.”

“It would seem that she had some good in her,” Manon said quietly. Her eyes had gone distant, lost in memory. 

Memory of what, Aven couldn’t tell. Perhaps it was those final moments of battle when Maeve had unexpectedly joined her magic with their own, adding that tiny extra amount needed to destroy Erawan and his brothers. Maeve’s tale of fleeing her husband and building an empire for protection had been widely known by then. When the dust had settled, and the three valg kings were little more than black ash, Maeve was gone, taken into a dark sliver of space by the newly freed gods and goddesses. No one knew what awaited her in the other realm into which they’d disappeared. Whether it was punishment, death, or some kind of refuge… No one really cared. The biggest threats to their world were gone. Now, there were injured to tend to, family and friends to mourn, kingdoms to rebuild. A gate to close and keys to destroy.

But Aven didn’t think that was the memory that held Manon’s attention. Placing her small hand on Manon’s, she said, “Maeve helped us in the end, and we shall never forget it. But it doesn’t negate all of her wrongs. Some monsters can never be redeemed.” She squeezed her hand, drawing Manon’s gaze. “And some monsters can be, for they were never truly monsters at all.”

“I’m afraid the ceremony will fail,” Manon whispered. “What if the curse can’t be broken? What if I…” She trailed off.

“What if,” Aven said, “you trust me when I say I have every confidence that tomorrow, all witches, Ironteeth and Crochan, will be able to return to the Wastes. You will lead us home Manon.”

 

* * *

 

The next morning, under a vast sapphire blue sky, hundreds of witches gathered alongside the King of Adarlan, the Queen of Terrasen, and other dignitaries from Erilean kingdoms, at the ruins of Rhiannon Crochan’s city. On a small hill overlooking the once blood drenched plain, Manon stood with her grandmother and the clan leaders. She sliced her palm and let her blood drip into a silver chalice. The blood of Crochan and Ironteeth combined.

Aven spoke the same words her mother had used all those centuries ago. This time, they were not a curse, but a blessing offered to all. When the blood was poured onto the dry earth beneath them, witches pushed forward so they could see the magic, see the moment their land was brought back to life. But nothing happened. 

Muttering spread back through the crowd. Dorian cleared his throat, staring pointedly at Aelin. Manon knew the queen loved dramatics, so she simply waited, hand outstretched.

Aelin winked at them, then reached into her hair and pulled out a small blue flower. The same flowers that now grew wild across the Terrasen landscape, reaching across mountain ranges only to stop at the borders of the Wastes. They were a legacy of Brannon, who had defied his allies to gift this land to the witches so long ago.

Manon took the bloom and laid it gently on the ground where her blood had pooled. 

Magic burst from the spot, rippling through the crowd and across the Wastes. Gasps and murmurs rose from the gathering. The soil took on a green cast as grasses poked up at their feet. All around them, the parched, dusty earth began to turn into a vibrant, living world. It would take time for the plains to return to their former beauty and vitality. 

But it had started. Things had changed.

As the celebration got underway, with tables stacked with food, flutes and fiddles getting tuned, a sharp breeze blew against Manon’s face. Asterin was beside her now, the Thirteen surrounding them. She caught Dorian watching her from where he stood, talking with Chaol and Aelin. A warm burst of love came through the bond and she returned it. 

 “You brought us home,” Asterin said quietly, taking Manon’s hand. 

Manon smiled as she looked out over the witches, Crochans and Ironteeth mingled together. Then she turned to her cousin, who had always been with her, had always been her anchor, even when she hadn’t known it.

“ _We_ brought us home,” Manon said. 

Asterin nodded, wiping a tear from her eye. “Shall we join in the festivities?” She leaned in conspiratorially. “I’ve heard good things about the cheese.” With a laugh, Manon wrapped her arm through Asterin’s and they joined the celebration.


	33. Epilogue 4 - Nerves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those still reading this, sorry this chapter took so long. And apologies for any similarities with my previous stuff, mostly All Dressed Up. I probably shouldn’t have written that knowing this one was coming. Not to sound totally apathetic, but… oh well. I’m repetitive.  
> There is a call back to chapter 9 if you're interested in rereading it.
> 
> Warning - lots of cheesy fluff and this is NSFW.
> 
> Also, there is only one chapter left!

* * *

 

Manon couldn’t recall a time when she’d felt this nervous. The dress, the first she’d ever worn, certainly wasn’t helping. Asterin and Elide, bickering and fussing over the back were not helping either. She’d worn less, but had never felt as exposed as she did now. Clenching her fists to keep her hands from shaking, she hoped the others didn’t notice.

A glance towards Sorrel and that hope fizzled. Her third looked up from Manon’s hands to her eyes, a sly smile on her face. Manon huffed in annoyance. “Will you two just finish it? This is getting ridiculous. Hardly anyone will see it!”

Asterin clicked her tongue and ignored her, continuing to adjust various adornments and the fall of the train. Elide came around to check on how the dress looked from the front. When they were finally done, they placed a large mirror in front of her.

 _Well_ , Manon thought reluctantly. _Maybe not so ridiculous_.

Made from a heavy silk that was suitable for the winter chill, the dress was a deep, metal gray, similar in shade to Wind Cleaver. It was long-sleeved and fitted to her body, until mid thigh, where it began to flare out, ending in an asymmetrical hem that flowed behind her in a short pool. The change was subtle though, allowing her room to walk while also highlighting her curves. The neck line, extending straight across from shoulder to shoulder, and falling just below her collarbones, was embellished with blood red rubies.

Manon twisted to examine the back. Where the front could be called modest, the back was anything but. A deeply cut V left enough skin exposed to be almost scandalous in a human court. A gold chain across her shoulder blades linked the back of the dress together. Gold pins held her hair up in a loose pile, drawing even more attention to her bare back.

Asterin stepped up behind her and fanned out the detachable train. It was fashioned from the same material as the dress, with a bit of a surprise. Hidden within the dark gray folds was a lustrous silk that seemed to contain a multitude of reds, its colors changing with every movement and ray of light. At once a rich crimson, then a vivid scarlet, then a dark burgundy.

The overall effect, when combined with her pale skin, moon white hair, and golden eyes… Yes, she had to admit that maybe it was not ridiculous at all.

When she turned again to face the others, she could no longer fight the smile. “I suppose this will do,” she said.

Asterin snorted. “You suppose? _You suppose_?!” She closed the distance between them and said, “Give it up Manon. We know you are happy and excited and all the other things a bride feels on her wedding day. There is no need to hide it.”

Manon sighed. Even after all this time, there were still moments when it was difficult to give in to her feelings. Especially the happy ones. But Asterin was right. She didn’t need to hide them. Not today. And besides, she obviously _couldn’t_ hide them, so it was absolutely pointless to keep trying.

Grinning, Manon took Asterin’s hand. “Shall we?”

Asterin laughed, her eyes sparkling with happiness for her friend. After the others hurried away, she led Manon into the hallway, towards the chapel where Dorian was waiting.

The chapel held a small gathering of close friends and family. Unfortunately, not everyone they’d invited could attend. Aelin and Rowan were expecting their first child, making wintertime travel difficult. Elide was the only member from their court who’d made the trip, though she hadn’t had as far to go, traveling from Perranth. Nesryn and Sartaq were attending to diplomatic matters throughout Erilea, making their presence a pleasant surprise. With the Thirteen, a small contingent of Crochans, and a few loyal Adarlan nobles to make it official, it would be a quiet ceremony with those they loved. Small and intimate without hordes of people they did not know, people who would have come simply to gawk or use the event to better their standing in court.

“Are you really that nervous,” Asterin asked? Manon’s hand was still shaking a bit.

“It’s not nerves.” Asterin stopped walking, giving Manon a skeptical look. “Ok, it is. But not bad nerves. Not ‘I need to get out of here before I make a mistake’ nerves.”

“Yeah, I kind of knew that.”

Manon huffed a laugh. “It’s just… Well, it’s a big step,” she said.

“Bigger than accepting the cariad bond? I would think it’s just the opposite.”

“It is. In a way,” Manon agreed. “But this is more… public.” She couldn’t explain it. She had no doubts, but the idea of declaring something so intimate in front of people, even close friends, made her uneasy.

“It’s only a few people. At a short ceremony. Then dinner. Everyone already knows how you two feel about each other, so there will be no surprises.” The teasing edge fell away from Asterin’s voice as she realized how anxious Manon was. “I’ll be next to you the whole time.”

Manon nodded and remained quiet as they continued through the chilly corridors. Asterin was right, it would be over quickly and she had nothing to be ashamed of, despite their upbringing. But there was more to it than that. After this, she would become the Queen of Adarlan.

The designation wouldn’t necessarily add to her duties. She was the Queen of the Wastes, and would remain such. But even with their kingdoms officially separate, she and Dorian confided in each other to an extent that they each played a significant part in the other’s rule. After today, not only would some of those separations cease to exist, she would be queen to a country that had not yet fully accepted witches.

The war was only a few years past but still fresh in people’s minds. Although they were a minority, there were some in Adarlan who refused to acknowledge the many witches who’d fought and died to defend them. That others had come to view her as their queen already didn’t do much to quell her doubts.

As if reading her mind, Asterin said, “This day is not about anyone but you and Dorian. His people love you, our people love him. There will always be those who don’t. But right now…” She waved her hand. “Forget them. We beat the bad guys and won the war. From here on out, it’s a piece of cake.” She squeezed Manon’s hand. “Speaking of which, can we get on with this so we get to the cake part?”

Manon rolled her eyes and laughed, grateful as ever for her cousin’s ability to boost her mood. “Thank you Asterin. For everything.”

“You’re welcome. Now. The ceremony, then cake. Let’s go!”

As they got closer to the chapel, Manon noticed the lack of torches lining the stone walls. She looked to Asterin and noted the smirk on her face. Before she could ask what was going on, they turned a corner, and the answer was in front of her. A memory gifted to her by Dorian.

“He made me promise to keep it a surprise. And said that you would know what it all meant,” Asterin explained, handing her a small bouquet of poppies and lavender that she’d been hiding.

The long hallway leading to the chapel doors was filled with tiny, floating globes of light in a variety of colors. Dorian’s magic. Just like that night at the spring. The night he’d courted her, with flowers and magic lights and a swim in freezing cold water that he’d warmed for them. A night that felt like a lifetime ago, though it had only been a few years. She sank her nose into the flowers, inhaling the sweet scent, and the sweeter memories.

“You do know what it means right?” Asterin asked. “If not, this is going to be awkward.”

“Of course I do,” she said with a scowl. “But I don’t have to explain it to you.”

Asterin glared. “And mere seconds ago you were thanking me for all I’ve done for you. Now, you hold out on all the lurid details of your relationship. Really, Manon.”

Manon’s answering laugh brought out Asterin’s wide grin. “They are, in fact, very lurid details. And you’re not hearing _any_ of them. Here,” she added, “help me with this.” She pulled several flowers from the bouquet and snapped off their stems. “Can you put these in my hair?” Asterin stood gaping until Manon turned around, a silent order to do it and not ask any more questions.

“By the goddess Manon, you _will_ tell me what all this is about,” Asterin muttered as she placed the poppies into Manon’s hair.

When they reached the chapel doors, Manon realized that Asterin had teased away all of her nerves. She looked at her cousin. “I meant what I said. Thank you.”

“I know,” she said quietly, then quickly wiped a tear from her eye. “I’ll wait to hug you after. So I don’t mess up the dress.”

 

* * *

 

Dorian didn’t know what to do with his hands. Leaving them to hang at his sides felt too casual. He cleared his throat and adjusted the high collar of his tunic. _Gods_ , he thought with annoyance, trying to pull it away. Perhaps the heavy embroidery had been a bad choice, seeing as it did nothing but constrict his breathing. He fidgeted a bit more then clasped his hands in front of him. No, too pious.

“Hold them behind you,” Chaol whispered from his side, a smirk on his face.

Dorian did as he suggested. “You do have experience in this matter,” he said with the cool voice of court training. Only to add, “Not that I was there to see it.”

Chaol sighed, his exhale long and slow. “How many apologies before you forgive me for getting married without you?”

“It may be a while. The leverage it affords me over you is too good to lose,” Dorian replied. But Chaol just kept smiling.

Aven eyed him from his other side. “You are mates. Whatever could you be nervous about?”

He ignored her, knowing she was trying to make him more anxious by bringing attention to it.

Chaol leaned behind him to tell Aven, “I think he’s worried about Manon feeling as though she had to wear a dress.”

Aven raised her eyebrows in understanding. “I saw it on the mannequin when the seamstress was making it.” Then to Dorian, “Maybe you’re right to be concerned.”

“Oh will you two stop it,” he huffed. “I think I’m allowed to have some nerves today.” They just laughed. Then, Dorian laughed, realizing how uptight he was acting.

Hearing the doors open, Dorian stood a little straighter, taking a deep breath. When Manon walked into the chapel, he was glad for that extra bit of air in his lungs.

She was a living dream. A dream that radiated power and strength and beauty. A beauty that was deliciously wicked and dark. Like she’d been crafted from the darkness between the stars. The thought struck him so suddenly that he finally released the breath he’d been holding. He remembered thinking that of her once before… When he’d first seen her. When she’d first looked at him and he’d been momentarily freed.

His eyes stopped their roving and settled on her own, glassy and shimmering gold in the torch light. She smiled and tilted her head, knowing exactly what was running through his mind. They had learned complete control over what they shared through their bond. But at this moment, as she came to stand with him at the altar… he didn’t bother keeping his feelings from her.

 _Hello Princeling_.

Dorian’s breath hitched. _Hello Witchling_.

Someone coughed quietly and Dorian remembered they were not actually alone. From the moment she’d walked into the chapel, everyone and everything else had disappeared. He looked around to Chaol and Asterin by their sides, grinning, and Aven between them, her eyes tearing up.

She started the ceremony but neither Dorian nor Manon were able to listen. Both were focused only on the other.

 _You look_ … Unable to even finish the thought, he just shook his head.

 _If wearing a dress is what renders you speechless, I may do it more often_ , she teased.

He choked back a laugh, and bore the brunt of Aven’s dirty look for them not paying attention.

 _I like the flowers. I’ll enjoy removing them from your hair later_. He included an image with that thought, smiling as she closed her eyes and inhaled sharply.

Now he had to bear her dirty look. Which was not hard, since her fearsome expressions had the exact opposite affect on him.

“I believe you have each prepared your own vows,” Aven announced, gesturing for Dorian to go first.

He had spent countless hours writing and rewriting. Trying to pin down everything he felt for her, everything that she meant to him. And then a few days ago, Manon had come to him, frustrated by the same problem. How can you possibly distill your love for a person into a couple of sentences? The answer, of course, was together. Once realized, it had taken them less than fifteen minutes to write their vows.

“You, Manon, are my salvation, my love, my mate. My home.” He paused for just a second as a thought crossed his mind. “And I will never stop getting lost in your eyes. Or stop loving you,” he added, unexpectedly. “Til the darkness claims us, and beyond.” Dorian lifted her hand and gently kissed each finger, a small gesture that had grown in meaning for them over the years.

Trying hard not to be overcome by emotion, Manon kept hold of his hand. “You, Dorian, are my salvation. My love and my mate. And you are my home.” A bit cheekily, she continued, “I will always allow you to get lost in my eyes.” He laughed. “Because I am so taken by yours. And I will always love you. Until the darkness claims us. And beyond.” She brought his hand to her lips and kissed each of his fingers.

Aven began her final declaration of the ceremony, but Dorian could not wait. Sensing the same in her, he pulled Manon against him and kissed her. A few loud whoops burst from behind them, joining with Aven’s and Chaol’s laughter, and a jubilant roar came from the balcony, where Abraxos had been given a view inside.

In a ridiculously loud whisper, Asterin said, “I was told there would be cake.”

While everyone drank and ate and enjoyed themselves, Dorian glanced over to find Manon watching him. The tense expression on her face brought worry to his. But before he could ask what was wrong, she stood and extended her hand.

Nodding to an empty corner of the room, Manon smiled and asked, “Shall we?”

He had completely missed the change in the music and it took Dorian a beat to realize what she was asking. Her hand was trembling slightly, though not enough for anyone else to see. He took hold of it and rose, unable to keep the grin off his face.

Manon had avoided dancing at every royal event they’d been a part of, including the celebration after she’d broken the curse on her homelands. She’d always claimed that she was busy discussing something important with some council member or noble. Once, she admitted not knowing how to dance, though he hadn’t believed her. It was clear she didn’t want to do it so he’d never pushed her. Instead, at official functions, Dorian would dance with whichever visiting royal they were honoring, Yrene, if Chaol was unable to, or even Asterin, who didn’t know how to dance but never let that stop her. So while he respected Manon’s choice, it was hard to continue hiding his disappointment at never having the chance to twirl her in his arms.

When they reached the corner, he pulled her in close against him.

“I only had time to learn a basic waltz,” she whispered. Then with a laugh, “I suppose you knew that by the music.”

Leaning down so his lips brushed against her ear, he said, “You never fail to amaze me Witchling.” She shivered at his touch and Dorian’s heart leapt.

The words were true, but he’d had an ulterior motive in speaking them. Manon was unusually nervous, all eyes in the room now on them. This moment was a gift from her and he wanted her to enjoy it as much as he would. As he started to lead them through the movements of the dance, Dorian felt her body relax into him.

Continuing the distraction, he said, “Whoever taught you has my compliments. You were an excellent student.”

Manon moved with such grace he found it hard to believe she’d never danced before. She flowed against him, with him, around him. He knew her warrior training was the likely reason. But a part of him thought it was simply because they fit so well together.

“Your Captain Westfall was a good teacher,” she said, breaking him from his reverie.

”Chaol taught you how to dance?” He shook his head in slight disbelief, trying to imagine his best friend teaching an Ironteeth witch how to waltz.

As others began to fill up the space around them, he noticed Nesryn and Sartaq staying apart from the group, dancing slowly along the edge.

“You sound surprised,” Manon said. “He gave a few of us lessons last week.”

They continued to spin and float across the floor and Dorian took note of who had joined them. Chaol and Yrene of course, and Gavriel had Asterin spinning in circles laughing. But several of the Thirteen were dancing with various partners, and even Elide had dragged Lorcan up. Like Sartaq, he moved slowly but not without grace. Indeed, a warrior made for a good dancer.  

Dorian spun her away and under his arm. When he pulled her back into his full embrace, Manon’s eyes were wide from the unexpected move. Her shock faded quickly as she realized how easily she’d handled his abrupt change in steps.

Holding her motionless against him, he leaned close and said, “Your dancing, like everything else about you, is beautiful.” 

He spun her away again and when she returned, he said, “You know you’ve made a grave mistake, right?”

A flash of panic crossed her face and she glanced down to her feet. “What?”

“Now that you know how to dance, you can’t get out of it so easily at official functions.” She sighed and was about to protest when he said, “But I will offer you a deal Witchling.”

Manon smirked. “Go ahead.”

“You won’t have to dance. Except with me, on this day next year. And every year after that.”

The music had ended. Dorian bent down and kissed her, then whispered a thank you in her ear. In the lull between songs, Manon agreed to his deal, then surprised him by pulling him to stay on the dance floor. He’d thought it would just be one dance.

“I may only know a single waltz,” she said. “But it’s still early.”

While the others moved around them, Dorian hugged her tight and they both laughed in the other’s arms.

As they danced, he tried to think of a time when he’d been this happy. Some of the moments that sprang to mind involved Chaol, some Aelin. But most of his happiest memories involved Manon. With his rare magic affording him an exceptionally long life, his joy grew knowing he’d have plenty of time to create more with her. 

 

* * *

 

“Strange, I thought things would feel different once we were married,” Dorian teased, closing their chamber door behind him.

Manon narrowed her eyes playfully. “Different how? Should I have made some other type of claim on you during the ceremony?”

He took her hand and twirled her against him as he’d done on the dance floor. When she was held closely to his chest he said, “You already had me, all of me, a long time ago. Before we were mates. In fact,” he leaned down to kiss her ear. “You had me with that first hello…”

“Princeling,” Manon whispered, getting lost in the feel of his lips and tongue on her skin.

“Hello Witchling,” he breathed against her neck. He stepped back to let his eyes roam over her body. “Did I mention that I really like your dress?”

With a deep laugh, she turned and walked over to the dressing table, giving him a full view of her bare back. She laughed again at his sharp intake of breath. When she reached to pull a flower out of her hair, she felt his magic wrap around her wrist to stop her. She let it pull her arm back down to her side. He was visible in the mirror and she watched him approach through hooded eyes.

“I’m suddenly struck by indecision,” he said, stopping behind her. He ran his fingers down her back and she shivered at the strange combination of fire and ice in his touch.

She could only manage a soft “Hmm?” in question.

He bent and skimmed her shoulders with his nose. “I can’t decide whether I want to take this off.” A hand wrapped around her waist and he pulled her against him. At the feeling of how aroused he was, she pressed into him, drawing a hiss in response. “Or leave it on,” he growled in her ear.

Manon tried to turn around but he held her firmly in place. She met Dorian’s eyes in the mirror, two bright blue flames of desire. He slid a hand beneath the silk of her dress and it inched slowly upwards to cup her breast. With each teasing pass over her nipple, Manon gasped. She tried again to twist around and face him, but he didn’t let her.

He undid the gold chain across her back, then, with little more than a nudge, the dress fell away from her shoulders. He tugged on the sleeves and it landed in a heap on the floor. Manon stepped out of it. Dorian stared at her image in the mirror, now almost completely bare. Except for the black stockings attached to a lacy black undergarment. And her red velvet slippers. By the look on his face, he hadn’t noticed what she’d had on her feet. Now, he couldn’t take his eyes off them.

Manon cleared her throat and Dorian focused on her face again, a flush darkening his skin.

“Definitely off,” he said with a grin.

As his magical hands roamed all over her body and his lips traced every inch of her neck, he plucked each flower and pin from her hair. She watched, transfixed not only by his touch, but by the sight of what he was doing to her. She was curved against him, mouth half open, eyes glazed, chest rising and falling with quick, desperate breaths. As he removed the last pin, her hair tumbled down like her silk dress, covering his face and eliciting a moan of delight.

No longer attending to her hair, Dorian’s real hands reached beneath the tiny piece of black lace. His touch sent a jolt through her belly and down her legs. She had to brace herself on the table to stay upright. But he linked his arm through hers and pulled her back, arched like a bow.

A quick nip of her earlobe, a steady fluttering of his fingers, and Manon was close to coming undone. She wanted him inside her, groaning impatiently at the hardness pressed against her backside.

“Not yet, Witchling,” Dorian whispered into her ear. “I want to watch you come like this.”

He plunged his fingers inside, then out, inside and out in such a maddening rhythm that Manon couldn’t focus on anything but the heat growing wildly within her. Dorian was panting along with her, saying things she couldn’t quite hear that nonetheless inflamed her. When she moaned his name, rocking into his touch, he pulled his hand away just far enough to stave off her orgasm.

“Not. Yet.” he commanded.

Her eyes flew open, glaring sharply at his reflection. There was no smirk awaiting her gaze, only a fiery stare. Phantom hands caressed her breasts and Manon moved into them. A brief twitch of his real hand had her moaning again.

Dorian resumed his attentions and she was lost to everything, no longer hearing his words, no longer watching what he did to her. When the sensation became almost too much to handle, Manon threw her head back on his shoulder and cried out, begging him to let her come.  

Seconds passed, feeling like an eternity, and she held her breath, waiting for him to say yes. Her eyes held his as he watched her entire body shaking, desperate for release yet loving each moment.

“Now, Manon.”

Letting go completely, Manon yelled out as the exquisite mix of pleasure and relief overtook her. It was another eternity before she came to her senses and found herself pressed tightly against Dorian’s chest. Light kisses along her neck and shoulder made her shiver as she tried to catch her breath.

Dorian held on to her, smiling at her in the mirror. “What’s so funny?”

Quietly laughing, she shook her head and turned around, finally facing him. “You’re giving me a lot of incentives to wear more dresses.”

His responding laugh was cut short as Manon bent down onto her knees and gazed back up at him. A single iron nail appeared and she hooked it around the top button of his pants. Her eyes never left his, and with a quick flick of her finger, the button flew off and landed across the room. Another snap and another button was gone.

She loved seeing him this way, so completely at her command, his eyes glazing over with the thought of all she could do to him. Another button was cut off as she made sure not to touch him, letting the desire build

“My turn,“ she murmured.

 

* * *

 

With Manon in his arms, Dorian stumbled to their bed. It had taken forever to make it there. And even now, with her legs wrapped around his waist, riding him as he carried her, mouths merged in a never-ending kiss, he was fighting the urge to simply hold Manon against the wall so they could both find release.

Finally, he felt the bed and lowered her down. She abruptly rolled them over and pushed herself up to look in his eyes. “Dorian,” she moaned, pleaded.

He smiled at the need on her face, the breathless desperation in her voice. Then, he tilted his neck.

Her teeth sank into him slowly and he felt her pull his blood into her mouth. She never took very much, her hesitancy to do any serious harm outweighing her desire.

Dorian didn’t know if it was because they were mates, or because he had raw magic, or if there was some other reason. But his blood was irresistible to her. She’d once tried to explain it to him, describing the taste and the charge that coursed through her, saying she’d never experienced anything like it. All she knew for sure was that she loved it.

And he loved feeling the sharp, piercing pain of her teeth, loved seeing the satisfaction in her eyes.

As Manon drank, Dorian continued thrusting inside her, savoring the pleasure and the pain. She moaned with each movement, rocking her hips to match him.

Knowing how close she was, he held her tighter, pushed harder and faster, and breathed, “Bite me again.”

It seemed his words sent her over the edge. Manon released his neck and threw her head back, crying out as she came. He groaned, feeling every pulse of her orgasm, hoping he could hold on.

When he felt the tips of her teeth press back into his skin, the moment they broke through and sank in deep, Dorian exploded in ecstasy, calling Manon’s name as she’d called his.

The next morning, reluctant as always to wake and rise, Dorian lay in bed, eyes closed, enjoying Manon’s warmth against him.

“You know it’s creepy to watch someone as they sleep,” he said. Unable to keep from looking at her, he opened his eyes to find her watching him, and smiling.

Her smiles were always a source of delight for him. They had become more frequent and less subtle over their years together, but they still felt like a gift meant only for him.

Manon said nothing as she moved towards him, a silent demand to be held closer. Dorian obliged, nuzzling her hair and stroking her back as he hummed the music they’d danced to last night.


	34. Epilogue 5 - Legacy

Easing her way out from under the covers, Manon prayed she’d make it in time. And without waking anyone up. The dog at the foot of the bed raised her head in annoyance, but the other one curled tightly against Dorian’s legs didn’t move. _Good dogs_ , she thought, narrowing her eyes at them. _For once_.

As soon as her feet hit the floor she rushed to the bathing chamber, holding a hand over her mouth. Reaching the privy just in time, she hunched over, vomiting up everything she’d eaten for dinner. The nausea had been getting worse since it first made an appearance a couple of days ago. Through sheer force of will, avoiding most food, and a deep hatred of being sick, she’d staved it off. Until now. The few bites of roasted lamb she’d tried at dinner had been a mistake.

The thought of the greasy meat set off another round of vomiting.

Closing the lid, Manon rested her head on it and took a few deep, steadying breaths. Trying to think about anything besides her roiling stomach, she went over a list of things she needed to work on that day. Abraxos needed some attention paid to his iron nails and tail spikes. There were several changes to the laws in the Wastes that needed her signature. Asterin was making plans for the birth of her second witchling.

Manon froze. _Witchling_. She’d been so busy lately that she hadn’t noticed if she was late. Her bleeding was often irregular, and as witches only had it two or three times a year anyway, it was easy to lose track. That didn’t even take into account the distractions of running a kingdom. Counting backwards in her head, she realized she should have had it four weeks ago. Her stomach churned. _Oh gods_ …

Lifting the lid, she threw up again.

 

 

* * *

 

Dorian woke to a chorus of low pitched whimpers. Rolling over, he saw Manon’s side of the bed was empty and both dogs sitting at the closed door to the bathing room. The sound of Manon throwing up brought him fully awake and he hurried from bed. Nudging the dogs out of the way, he opened the door to find her sitting on the floor, head in her hands.

“Manon?” He knelt down next to her, his voice deep with worry. He knew she hadn’t been feeling well, but this seemed rather serious.

She shook her head, then tried to vomit again, but there was nothing left. Loose strands of hair stuck to her sweaty face and she looked ashen. He chilled the air and made a slight breeze to cool her.

“Manon?” Still no reply. “I’m sending for a healer.” Chaol and Yrene were away, but she’d brought in many gifted healers to work in the castle.

He stood and she grabbed his hand, pulling him back down next to her. “No, Dorian. It’s ok.”

“It’s obviously not ok,” he growled. But she refused to let go of him. “Let me at least get you some water.”

Manon agreed and released his arm. After years together, he’d never seen her like this. Injured, yes. Many times in fact. Though, thankfully, not often since the end of the war. He returned with the water and watched her carefully drink. As he pulled her hair back and continued to cool her down, he realized he’d never seen her sick with an illness.

“Better?”

“Yes,” she said, nodding weakly. She shifted to lean against the tub, resting the back of her head on the rim.

“Do you want to go back to bed or stay here?” She still looked pale, and a little shaky.

“Maybe the couch,” she replied in a hoarse voice.

Dorian picked her up and carried her into their sitting room. The fact that she didn’t protest worried him. Usually, regardless of the injury, she would have insisted on walking by herself.

She was shivering a bit now, so he switched off his ice magic and moved the couch closer to the fire. He sat, then gently lay her down, pulling her legs to rest on his lap. The dogs jumped up and nestled against her. She rested a hand on the closest one and closed her eyes. He watched her for a while, then realized he hadn’t sent for a healer. Thinking she was asleep, he slowly lifted her legs and stood.

“I don’t want a healer,” she said, eyes still closed. “Not right now. I’ll see one in the morning.”

“What aren’t you telling me?” he asked, sensing something was off.

Manon opened her eyes and he saw the tears gathering, about to spill over. “I’m late, Dorian.”

It took him a few moments to process what she meant. “You’re… “ His eyes widened with understanding. “You think you’re pregnant?”

She nodded as her tears finally began to run down her cheeks.

Dorian didn’t know how to respond. Manon was clearly upset about the possibility, and that knowledge brought a sharp pang in his chest, swift to come and swift to disappear. He turned to stare at the fire, letting the news sink in. 

They’d talked of having children of course. How could they not with the growing pressure to produce an heir. But with the joining of their kingdoms and the never-ending rebuilding from the war, they’d kept putting it off.

His emotions whorled inside him, too many to settle on a single feeling, a single reaction. His worry prompted him to say, “And you don’t want to be.”

She sniffed and dried her eyes. “I don’t know. It’s just...” she trailed off. “We were going to wait. With your magic making you long-lived, I just thought we had time to decide. And plan.”

He felt his own confusion double, finally understanding that some of it was coming from her. All their barriers were gone and he felt everything through their connection. Her sadness, fear, insecurity... Even small, hidden sparks of hope and joy. There was something else hiding within her storm of emotions, but he couldn’t hold on to it.

Dorian leaned over and kissed her, brushing her hair around her ear. “I know, Witchling. I’m honestly not quite sure what to think myself. No one can ever really plan for this, regardless of how hard they might try. You need some sleep. We’ll see a healer in the morning and go from there.”

She nodded, though he knew neither of them would get any rest. She knew it too, but they sat together watching the fire crackle, each trying to figure out how they felt about having a child.

 

 

* * *

 

Manon eventually shut her eyes, hopeful that pretending to sleep would bring it about, but the turmoil in her mind and body kept her from it. At the first mention of heirs several years ago, she had simply blocked it from her thoughts. She spoke all the requisite pleasantries when forced to by nosy nobles and councilors. But inside, she never let herself dwell on the possibility of having a witchling. The moment she did, she knew the matron’s voice would threaten to take over. So Manon continued pushing it away, pushing it into some distant, unknown future.

And now, it appeared that future had arrived.

Giving up the attempt to get rest, she sat up and pulled Dorian’s arm around her shoulders, leaning into his chest. He was awake, and not surprised that she was too. “I’m afraid, Dorian. There is no way I will be a good mother. Not with my upbringing.”

She sensed his spike of anger at the veiled mention of the matron. His hatred of her rivaled Asterin’s, which was no small thing. And although the evil had been destroyed long ago, her influence on Manon was still felt by both of them. Some memories had faded with time, only for others to resurface. New ones sometimes appeared as if out of thin air.

Yrene had helped her understand how that could happen, how she could have forgotten some of the things the matron had said and done to her. She’d explained that it was possible for people to force bad memories into hiding, until a time when the mind was better able to deal with them.

The healer had also given Manon a book to read. A passage from it had been running through her head ever since she’d made the connection between her bleeding and nausea. It claimed that abuse could become a cycle, passed from one generation to another.

“In what ways do you think you’d be a bad mother?” Dorian asked, pulling her back from her darkening thoughts. “I strongly disagree of course. But I admit that I’m biased,” he continued with a smile.

This was something she so loved about him. She knew he would think she was wrong, being too hard on herself.

“You _are_ biased. Incredibly so,” she said with a quick smile.

He never dismissed her feelings though, especially the negative ones. Instead, he would get her to talk through them. And often, it forced her to sort them out logically and come to the realization that she was, in fact, probably being too hard on herself.

But this… This wasn’t a case of her feeling badly about how she’d settled a land dispute, or regretting losing her temper with a guard. This involved a child. _Their_ child. Yes, she was the Queen, and the lives of their subjects depended on her and Dorian. But this felt so different. This was more. This was taking a clean slate and molding it into a totally new person.

She laughed dryly and shook her head. “There’s just no way.”

“You said that. Now tell me why,” he demanded.

Manon sat up and glared at him, her patience suddenly wearing thin. “Because I never wanted a witchling. Ever. Because if I’d had one, she would have been taken from me or used as leverage or turned into a monster herself. So I never let myself even consider it. Because I have no idea what a mother even does, how one should act. Because I don’t think I can handle the pressure. And if I can’t, will I resort to the shit I do know about raising a witchling? Will I become the matron?! And what about the bad days when I can barely get out of bed? When the darkness takes over. How can I put a child through that? What if she has that problem herself? I couldn’t bear seeing her suffer. Especially from something that came from me.”

She felt the tears drip off her face, not knowing when they’d started again. Dorian wiped them off with his shirt sleeve and kissed her forehead.

"Manon, I... I didn’t realize you felt all of that,” he said quietly. Then, with a rough laugh, he added, “I guess I didn’t have the best role model for being a father.”

This made her feel worse. She’d thought only of herself.

_That’s not unusual. Yourself is all you ever think about. If it weren’t for that bond, he’d have left you a long time ago._

Manon squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fists at the unwelcome intrusion of old, hateful thoughts.

 _Listen to me Manon._ Dorian’s voice slid into her head through their bond. _Not to it. It lies. I don’t. I love you._

She felt him rest his head against hers, then focused on the words as he repeated them.

A while later, when she felt more steady, she opened her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. “And forgive me. I didn’t consider your past.” 

She saw his face cloud over with some memory, there and gone in an instant. He rarely had flashes into bad memories anymore, having learned tricks to overcome the words or things that might bring them crashing to the forefront. His nightmares had also dissipated. But they still happened. Their infrequency was almost worse in a way as they never knew when one would hit. He could go months without one, then the next night, he’d moan and thrash around until she managed to wake him. He’d usually spend the remainder of the night at his desk rather than try to go back to sleep.

Waving away her apology, he said, “I’m not sure that I’d make a good father, so I guess we’re in the same boat.”

After a long silence, Dorian said, “Maybe even people who had good parents feel this way though. They may have a head start of course.” Manon huffed in agreement. “But I imagine they still have the same anxieties. Wisdom doesn’t get passed down automatically from our parents. It comes with experience.”

“Which we have none of,” she interjected.

“Yes, but we know plenty of people who do.” Dorian rested his head atop hers. “Perhaps Aven could come and live here for a while? Anielle isn’t that far for her. She could return to the Maze whenever she wanted. Although she may have to fight a few other witches for babysitting duties...”

Manon smiled. _Anielle is close to the Wastes_ , she thought.

Its proximity was one of several reasons they’d set up court here. Rifthold had been leveled during the war, so Chaol offered them his large keep and lands on the western edge of the White Fangs as a temporary seat for the throne. Not long after, Dorian had decided to demolish the castle in Rifthold, declaring it too costly to repair. Privately, he’d told Manon that he had no desire to return to it and relive past memories. He ordered the rubble be repurposed for houses and shops, and they’d lived here since, the town quickly on its way to becoming a full fledged city.

Aven, the Thirteen and Annabee, friends both human and witch... She’d gained so much support over the last few years, much of it coming from the man holding her now. Manon took a deep breath and released it, so grateful for Dorian, and feeling a little more at ease with whatever life-changing news came their way tomorrow.

 

 

* * *

 

They’d fallen asleep on the couch and Dorian was now paying the price for it. The dogs’ whining woke him up and he stood and stretched, groaning at his sore back.

Manon stirred, asking drowsily, “What time is it?”

“Early. Your dogs need to go out.”

“They are your dogs, Princeling. Especially when they need to be taken out,” she grumbled, pulling a blanket up over her shoulders.

Shortly after the dogs had arrived as a wedding gift from Aelin, he’d shocked everyone, including himself, by getting into the habit of waking up early and taking them for a walk. He’d come to enjoy the time to think through his plans for the day. And it had done wonders for the dogs’ energy levels.

Manon exaggerated her dislike for them – he often caught her fussing over them as if they were Abraxos. He had to admit they _were_ hellions, which made sense that it was Aelin who’d chosen them. Abraxos seemed to enjoy getting them riled up around Manon, making himself look a little better in comparison. But Dorian had seen the wyvern nuzzling the dogs too. Just like his rider. Still trying to disguise their warm hearts behind a cool exterior.

He pulled on a jacket and sat to put his shoes on, the dogs running around excitedly. “I’ll stop and send a healer up on my way back. How do you feel this morning?”

“Not too bad,” she said, sitting up slowly. “I’m hungry, but afraid to eat anything. I still feel a little shaky.”

He kissed her cheek. “I’ll be back soon.”

Dorian took a shorter route this morning and stopped in the healing rooms. Luckily, the midwife was on duty, so he didn’t have to ask for her personally. Gossip was inevitable, regardless of how trustworthy the castle staff were. But he was glad to avoid not calling attention to what was going on.

By the time he returned, Manon had bathed and was sitting at her desk. It was a sight he still hadn’t gotten used to, even after several years of ruling. She’d taken to this type of leadership quickly, just as he’d known she would. It usually took her a bit longer than him to get sick of the mindless paperwork, but she absolutely hated the meetings. All that bickering and debating... He didn’t particularly care for them either, but he preferred that to sitting at a desk and signing papers.

“The midwife is on her way. I’ll get cleaned up.”

Manon smiled, absently petting the dog now sitting in her lap. Dorian rushed to bathe and get dressed. He didn’t want to miss the healer. He also didn’t want to risk letting his mind wander too much. He wanted children with Manon, bad timing or not. But he wouldn’t push her into something she didn’t want or wasn’t ready for. And despite that desire, he still had his own doubts.

He hadn’t been trying to distract her by bringing up his father last night. Although he hadn’t suffered the same way Manon had, he certainly had nothing to draw upon when it came to good parenting.

Except, that wasn’t exactly true. They had more than just Aven to reply upon. Chaol and Yrene were wonderful parents. As were Asterin and Gavriel, Catrin and Alastair, Fallon and Annabee. They had support and good advice all around them. The thought sent a warm jolt through him, boosting his confidence.

When he returned to their bedroom, Manon was sitting on the bed, her back to him. Dorian looked around for the midwife. “Did I miss her? I tried to hurry.” She didn’t answer. He rushed around to where she sat. “Manon? Was she here? What happened?” She didn’t answer, just stared at the wall. Hesitantly, he asked, “Are you pregnant?”

She shook her head, her golden eyes bright with tears. “Oh Witchling. I’m sorry,” he whispered, sitting next to her and pulling her into his arms. They sat like that for a long time. He hadn’t noticed his own tears until she pushed away to say something and brushed them from his face. He tried to smile, but it was too hard.

“How quickly we both became attached,” she said softly. “It’s just a stomach illness. Several people in the castle have had it this past week.”

“What about your bleeding? Is something wrong?”

Manon sighed. “No. Just stress she thinks. I’ve never been regular. I just thought…”

“The combination of that with being sick,” he finished, nodding.

“I asked Tilda to wait. There was more I wanted to talk to her about.”

“Let’s go.” He took her hand and pulled her up.

 

 

* * *

 

Tilda was in the sitting room, tossing a small ball for the dogs. As Manon and Dorian entered, the older woman stood and bowed. She smiled apologetically at Dorian, who thanked her for coming up so quickly.

Manon sat down and said, “This was a bit of a surprise for us. So I wanted to talk to you about…” She trailed off, unsure of how to phrase her question.

“Prevention?” Tilda asked.

“No,” Manon said. Dorian turned to look at her, confusion on his face. “I’d like to know if there’s a way to determine how easily I could get pregnant. Assuming that I can,” she finally said. “I’m not sure if that’s possible. I’ve always had problems with my bleeding.” She touched the scar that crossed her stomach. “And I’ve had some injuries.”

Tilda nodded. “The exam I just did showed no signs of an internal problem, Your Majesty. There are many other reasons a woman may have trouble conceiving however.” She looked to Dorian. “As well as reasons a man may have troubles.

“The Torre Cesme has some techniques for testing a woman’s blood. They are not definitive though. Merely ways to indicate the presence or absence of some things that may impact a woman’s ability to conceive.”

Manon frowned, realizing what was wrong about Tilda’s words. “You keep saying ‘woman’. I am a witch.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the healer said, her face full of kindness. “While the Torre Cesme is advanced, and accepting of all, I’m afraid their instruction did not include much about witches. There wasn’t much cause for it. Crochans are gifted healers themselves, and the Ironteeth,” she dipped her head, “rarely visited the continent.”

Manon didn’t know what she’d expected. She knew how rare witchlings were, even with the curse of the Wastes broken. And she knew they fell outside the bounds of any kind of magic witches had.

Tilda turned to Dorian. “The work you both are doing with Terrasen and Eyllwe to build branches for teaching and healing throughout Erilea will only add to our knowledge. I’m sorry I don’t have better news. A Crochan healer may offer more help. Ancient knowledge that I haven’t been exposed to,” she added hopefully.

“I will check with my grandmother. But I know of no ways to help a witch conceive.”

The midwife stood and approached Manon. “Now that I know of your intentions, I can send a list of foods to the kitchens. They would only help in the early days and weeks of pregnancy, but it is a good idea to start now. I would also recommend reducing your hours spent at work. To try and lessen stress.” Tilda smiled at them both. “I know that’s easier said than done. But it is my job to recommend it.”

“We appreciate your advice, Tilda,” Dorian said, standing to escort her to the door.

Before she left though, the midwife turned and said, “Your Majesty?”

Manon raised her head, not noticing she’d slumped in her chair. “Please, call me Manon.”

The woman blushed but gave a slight bow. “Forgive my forwardness, but… I have no reason to believe you won’t be blessed with many childr- I mean witchlings. But if… If it should happen that you aren’t… You have other options.”

Manon looked from Tilda to Dorian, confused. He shrugged a shoulder. “What do you mean Tilda?”

“I was adopted. When I was very young. Taken in by an older couple from an orphanage in Antica. They are why I was able to attend school, attend the Torre Cesme. Without them… I don’t know what would have become of me.”

Manon stood and walked to the midwife. Taking her hand, she said, “Thank you Tilda.”

Tilda smiled, bowed deeply to both of them, and left.

Manon turned to find Dorian watching her, his arms crossed and a smile spreading across his face. “What?” she asked.

He laughed, dropping his head and shaking it back and forth. “You never cease to amaze me, Witchling.”

She tilted her head. “What?!”

His eyes met hers and she felt a jolt of emotion. Reaching for her, he said, “We can wait. There is time.”

Manon let herself be pulled into his arms. Let him run his hands through her loose hair. Let him kiss her. Let him hold her. And she loved every second of it. She hadn’t lost any of the fears and doubts that had plagued her last night. But this morning, learning she was not pregnant…

She’d been surprised by the disappointment that had washed over her. And the punch of sadness that had followed, when she’d wondered if it was even possible for her to have a witchling. She knew the doubts would persist. Probably forever. Life was full of them. All they could do was meet them head on. Learn from their mistakes. Keep their options open. Together.

Dorian hugged her tighter as she shared all of this through their bond. Over the years, they’d learned how to control the connection. They were both able to block their thoughts and feelings from the other, and that had become the default for them. It had been a choice. They respected each other’s privacy.

But the control required to block had enabled them to channel everything back and forth – thoughts, words, images, feelings, desires – over longer distances and with more precision. Manon could travel to the Wastes and still communicate directly with Dorian. He could visit the rebuilding effort in Rifthold and tell her about his day. Now, in each other’s arms, there was no distance between them. And really, the bond ensured there was never any distance between them.

“I know we have time,” she finally said. “But as you said, we’ve been avoiding it. There’s no harm in talking about it. Or starting to make plans even if they will likely change. I’m still afraid of how my problems might affect her.” She felt a tug on the bond and rolled her eyes. “Or him.”

“We should be careful not to let worry outweigh happiness. I don’t know what the right answer is. All of it is a risk. We just need to decide how much risk we can live with.”

She nodded, considering it.

“And Gods help us, she could end up like me. Charming, irresistible, the raw magic of a goddess… Umm, actually, I think I would prefer if our witchling was nothing like that,” he said, his brow furrowing as the realities of his joke hit him.

Manon snorted. “And if _he_ favors you, Your Charmingness? Oh High King of Flirting and Magic Hands,” she said with a smirk.

His mouth opened but he didn’t say anything right away, thinking about all of the implications. “No. He can’t take after me either. Girl or boy.” He shook his head. “Too much trouble. He or she will favor their lovely mother.”

Clicking her jaw, she snapped her iron teeth into place. “Sure about that, Great Dimpled One?”

“We are in trouble aren’t we,” he said with a grin.

Manon retracted her teeth and brushed a finger along his dimpled cheek. “Yes we are, Princeling.”

 

 

* * *

 

_Several years later..._

 

Dorian ran up the stairs, damning that ceremony for the new healing center in Rifthold that had run late. Abraxos had flown faster than Dorian had ever seen him fly, and he was grateful for it. He’d communicated with Manon the whole time and was pretty sure he wasn’t too late. He burst into the sitting room and found Chaol, Gavriel, Sorrel and the other members of the Thirteen who were currently stationed at the castle.

“Manon,” he said, panicky and out of breath.

Sorrel grinned. “She’s doing great. You didn’t miss anything.”

He looked around the room. “The children?”

“Fallon and Annabee have them all. They’re playing outside with the dogs, out of everyone’s way,” Ghislaine answered, pushing him towards the door to the inner rooms.

He heard a scream and took off for the door himself. Yrene, Tilda, Aven, Asterin, and several apprentices were gathered around Manon. She was standing, clutching her large belly and breathing through the pain as Aven held her hand.

“I’m here,” he said breathlessly.

Aven raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Princeling. We can see that.” The little, old witch had taken to calling him that whenever she was feeling cheeky, or frustrated with him, claiming the nickname suited him. It made no difference how often he politely asked her to stop, or tried to explain that he preferred only Manon called him that.

“Nice of you to join us, Highness,” Asterin said with a wink.

Dorian took Aven’s spot beside Manon, chilling the air to cool her down. “Hello Witchling,” he whispered in her ear then kissed her cheek. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Hello Princeling,” she said, leaning into him. “Don’t let them rattle you. I knew you would get here.”

She seemed so calm and collected, even as another contraction hit, forcing a muffled scream. But she breathed through it, exactly as Tilda had shown them a few weeks ago.

Aven plopped down in a chair, looking almost as exhausted as Manon. She caught Dorian watching her and said, “Just because I’m old and wise doesn’t mean I know anything about this.”

“But you had a son,” he countered.

She waved a hand. “Yes but I had others telling me what to do. And besides, that was a long time ago.”

Dorian glanced sideways at Manon.

_She's not handling the stress of seeing me in pain very well. I was actually thinking of sending her out. Not exactly a good sign is it?_

He hadn’t been there long but this was the first flash of worry he’d seen on her face. _I'll handle it. We have enough people in here anyway I think. Unless you’d like me to invite Chaol in?  
_

Manon threw her head back and laughed. When the next contraction hit, Yrene motioned to the apprentices and said, “It might be time to push.”

Dorian helped her to the bed and Tilda lifted her gown to check her progress. Manon winced and, catching Dorian’s eye, nudged her head towards Aven.

With his best smile, Dorian said, “Aven, would you mind finding the kids? I’m sure they’ll all want to see the baby. It looks like she’ll be here soon.”

Manon’s grandmother looked between them and sighed. She stood and walked towards Dorian. “I’m sorry I snapped at you, Dorian.” She turned to Manon. “I was the same way when Annabee had Rhiannon. I told both of you that I would be useless in here and you both insisted.”

“It’s ok, Aven,” Dorian said. “I don’t want anything to happen to her either.”

She smiled and patted his cheek.

As he walked her to the door, he became serious and said,“You must know how much it means to her that you’re here?”

“I do know. Because it means so much to me that she’s here.” She wiped the tears from her eyes. “Call me when she’s all done and smiling again.”

Aven left and Dorian returned to Manon, who was back to standing. Tilda had readied her supplies and motioned for her apprentices to step back. She looked from Dorian to Manon and said, “Ok, Manon. With the next contraction, I want you to push.”

 

 

* * *

 

Grandmother led Will and Sophie towards their parent’s bedroom. Practically everyone they knew was in the sitting rooms, laughing and smiling and hugging. The twins could barely contain their own excitement, pulling their grandmother’s hands towards the door. They were getting a new brother or sister today. Will was hoping for a brother but Sophie didn’t care. She only hoped the witchling had beautiful, white hair like Momma.

Grandmother dropped their hands and opened the door. She bent down to them and said, “Off you go!”

Will took off running. Sophie didn’t want to get left behind so she ran too. When they reached the bed, they jumped up onto it, crawling into Poppa’s lap.

“This is Vesta,” Momma said. “Your baby sister.”

Will and Sophie both tried the name. “Vesta,” they whispered together.

Poppa bent down and said to Vesta, “This is Sophie and Will, your big sister and big brother.”

Sophie didn’t think Vesta heard what he said since she was sleeping in Momma’s arms, but she liked the way they were introduced. She reached over and tugged on the edge of the blanket, frowning when she saw Vesta didn’t have white hair. Will didn’t seem to mind that she wasn’t a boy witchling. He just stared at her with big eyes and touched her tiny fingers.

Poppa poked her belly. “What’s the matter ladybug?”

She wasn’t sure if she should tell them. She was happy to have a new sister; happy that she could teach her how to cut out cookies with Will, and how to play with Brax and the pups. And how to read. Well, after she learned herself. “I wanted her to have hair like Momma’s.” she finally said.

Poppa smiled. “You know, I hoped she might get Momma’s hair too. But I’m afraid Vesta is stuck with mine.” He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “She has Momma’s pretty eyes though.”

“She does? Can I see?”

“Me too,” Will said. “I wanna see.”

Momma laughed. “The second she’s awake you can both see.”

“How long til then?” Will asked.

“Well,” Poppa said, “Let’s all watch and see.” He leaned back on the bed next to Momma and pulled her and Will up to rest against him. He tickled them but stopped when Momma gave him a look to keep quiet. Sophie and Will giggled as Poppa smiled and kissed her.

Will leaned over them to check. “Is Vesta awake yet?”

Sophie sat up and looked around. “Where are the pups? Did they meet Vesta yet? What about Brax?”

“And the aunties and Uncle Chaol and Uncle Gavriel?” Will asked.

“Shhh, lay back witchlings. She’s still asleep. Brax and your aunties and uncles will meet her soon. You were at the top of the list. We’ll let the pups meet her when she’s a little bigger,” Poppa said.

Sophie and Will fell back against Poppa, not taking their eyes off Vesta. Momma reached over and tugged on their ears. That was her special way of saying she loved them. Will laughed because he was ticklish there. At the sound, Vesta began to squirm.

The moment Vesta’s eyes fluttered open, Poppa lifted her and Will up and they crawled over to get a better look.

“Ooo,” Will said. “They _are_ like Momma’s.”

Sophie let out a quiet gasp, too busy looking at her sister’s eyes to say anything. They were the same gold as Momma’s, but they seemed brighter somehow, like they were lit from within.

Poppa leaned over them. “Do her eyes make up for my hair, ladybug?”

"Yes, but I think she will be beautiful because of both,” Sophie said, smiling up at Momma and then at Will. He was still staring, but broke away at Sophie’s attention. He gave her a nod and she turned back to Poppa.

“Can you...” She hesitated, double checking that Vesta was still awake. Momma had moved the little bundle so their sister was watching them. “Will you tell her our story, Poppa?”

“We want it to be the first one she hears,” Will explained.

“I think that sounds like a perfect idea,” Momma said, smiling at Poppa.

He agreed and pulled them back to his side of the bed. Sophie and Will snuggled in close, their eyes never leaving little Vesta.

“Once upon a time, there was a beautiful, brave Crochan witch named Allia. She lived far in the south of Erilea, and when she heard about the new witch queen, and how the Wastes had been reborn, she decided to return to her people. She was pregnant and wanted her witchlings to be born in the Wastes, so she hurried north.”

Poppa went on about all the dangers Mother would have faced. He liked to change them with each telling, and she and Will each had their favorites. But every version always brought Mother to the Ferian Gap, not too far from where they lived now in Anielle. Once she reached the Gap, the tale never changed.

“It just so happened that Momma and I were going to visit Grandmother Aven and decided to take the long way.”

“Brax!” Will burst out.

“Exactly!” Poppa said. “We took to the air and flew to the Gap. When we got there, we saw a storm gathering in the pass and chose to wait a day or two. But your Mother had already started through, not knowing that bad weather was coming behind her. When the snow and ice caught up to her, making flight impossible, she found a nice, warm cave to hide in. Once she settled in to wait out the storm, that’s when you two decided to make an appearance.”

He poked each of them in their bellies and they laughed. Poppa always tried to make them laugh then because the next part of the story was sad. 

“The moment the skies cleared, Momma and Brax and I started on our way. As we flew high overhead, Abraxos started pulling on the reins, insisting that we land. He growled and fought and refused to go where we wanted him to go. Since he never acted like that before, we knew it must be important and let him take over. He took us down into a craggy mountain pass, now full of snow, and landed right in front of a little cave. That’s when we heard what he’d been hearing.”

“Will’s crying,” Sophie said, earning a halfhearted kick from her brother.

“You were both crying,” Poppa said, giving her a serious look. “And for good reason. When we climbed inside, we found two little witchlings, all bundled up to stay warm. And next to them was their mother, who’d wrapped them up in all the extra clothing she’d had, and shielded them from the storm. Her broom was sitting nearby, too damaged to fly.” Poppa described how strong and brave Mother was and how she’d sacrificed herself to keep them safe.

Momma reached over and ran her hand over each of their cheeks. Sometimes Sophie didn’t cry when they heard this part. But today, with her sister so new and small next to her, she felt especially sad. And at the same time, happy. She looked over at Will and saw there was a streak of wetness down his cheek too. He bit his bottom lip and looked at her. They smiled at the same time, trying to make the other feel better. It always worked. Knowing Will understood how she felt always made it a little easier to get through this part of the story.

Vesta watched and made soft, little noises as Poppa continued. He told about how Momma winnowed them to Grandmother Aven while he and Brax brought their Mother a couple of days later. He told about the ceremony they’d had to send Mother into the Darkness, where she now waited to see them someday. He told about how they’d found a note stuffed inside their blankets, describing parts of mother’s journey, why she was returning, how she had no other family and wanted to be with her clan again.

He said he wondered if maybe she prayed to the Three-Faced Goddess for help, and Brax was sent in answer. Something inside both Will and Sophie told them this was true.

“The note had two very, extremely, super important things in it. Can either of you guess?” Poppa asked.

“Our names!” they shouted together. Vesta twitched in Momma’s arms, her dazzling eyes popping open at the noise. She must have fallen asleep while they listened to the story.

Will reached over and patted the bundle. “Sorry Vesta.” Then he turned to her and made a loud shushing noise. Sophie stuck her tongue out at him. She thought she might get in trouble for it, but Momma and Poppa were laughing.

“And so,” Poppa said, “since your mother didn’t have any family for you to go to, and since Brax wouldn’t let you out of his sight, and since we loved you both very much, you came back to Anielle to live with us.”

“Happily ever after!” Sophie and Will sang.

She heard Vesta coo again and looked up just in time to see Momma and Poppa smile at each other. Poppa took Momma’s hand and kissed it.

“Happily ever after,” Momma said.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy and relieved and sad to finish this story. And glad/amazed I got it done before KoA! I started out thinking this would only have a few parts and once I took that leap into a multi-chapter fic, I planned to update once a week. Almost two years later...  
> THANK YOU for sticking with me! THANK YOU for reading, liking, and commenting!  
> I can't tell you how much I appreciate it :D


End file.
